1 


?'s 

>ir 

tz- 

M. 

at 

of 

as 

as 

he 

)u- 

ee. 

on 

at 

nd 

rs. 

gh 

<e, 


^ 


-  when  Mrs.  Chalmers'  grand 
nan   Williams,   unveiled   St.    Gau- 
jiens*   statue  of   Lincoln. 
=     Of    particular    value    is    the    photo 
graph   in   the   Chalmers   home   of  Mr. 
1  Pinkerton  with  Lincoln  and  Gen.  John 
I  A.  McClernand,  taken  just  before  the 
Bloody   battle    of    Arftietam,    in    1862. 
lagging   by    its    side   is   Robert    Lin- 
oln's  favorite  picture  of  his   father. 

As  for  the  Country  Home  for  Con- 
alescent  Children  near  Wheaton,  now 
inder  the  direction  of  the  University 
f  Chicago,  Mrs.  Chalmers  founded  it 
1  years  ago,  and  has  ever  since  given  ; 
irelessly    of    her    energy    to   build     a 
\odel  institution  for  the  care  of  hand- 
apped    children.    Today    the    bronze 
Iblets  on  the  walls  of  the  hospitals, 
,  and  the  library  bear  tribute 
--<*  the  gifts  of  other  old 
•->ago  families. 

FEBRUARY       5.       10^1?. ^ntinues    her 

•^^••^•^^••^^•^•••••••^••••••••••••fcod  year 

in  the 


A  FASHION  OF  70S-'80S 


', 

er: 

plav 

one 

tutic 

was  1 

she 

at 

cem| 

go\ 

for 

last 


ng  a 
deals. 


is  a 

cs  oj 

ellow 


How  Mrs.  W.  J.  Chalmers  looted 


in  a  gown  of  the  years  1870-1880.     i 

, 


iXOOI 


a  bit  ot  meat  and  a  lew 
beans  to  mix  with  it  into  the  national 
dish — the    "  sancochade  " — he    doesn't 
pay  much  attention  to  politics. 

The  weather  Is  ordinarily  much  to 
his  liking  also,  never  coming  within 
ten  degrees  of  freezing  nor  more  than 
30  degrees  above  that  mark. 


RESORTS   AND   TRAVEL 

•^N^^'-^X^-*^-N-/->^-V_/-N_'-X^~ 

Oceau   Travel. 


Roto  Depicts 
75  Years  of 
EasterRnery 


Milady   of   Yesteryear 
Knew  Nothing   of 
piece  Frocks  or  Stepms 


Inmes  O'Donnell  Bennett. 

i 

thirties-woman  of  then 


D 
K 
JL/ 


the 


and 


the 

aphanous 
bales   of  fabric 
grandmother 
•carried  on  their 
their  hips  in  the 

On  the  color  paB«=  -  -»-      TR-IBUNB 

srsr*-^ '-" " 

mp  ot 


tury 


morning's 
- 


3m  311SV3-NO! 

»;»;  pun  voiimujofuj 

Hinos 

OI  AVM  «i/jL 


suiepv  'M  ZTT 


neejng 


PUB 


^Jaq  ptre 
pas    'Bureqeiv   'SIBO 
•saunax  pu^  o»|O  'i 
apjejjo  »d«O 
-;g  o)  i}^j  ^ 


ijaa  j.o  auoifd  '3)ij^\ 
antjnp   sasmJD  J9qio 

'papnpui  jaiuB9js  no 

ra   -aaej   [IEH   -cuniaj 
spsnj^   oj   saaAiH   »as 

rssjnj  aqi  no  gsiruo  B 

ajs  Man  aqj 


ao  1N39V  nvooi  anoA  aa 

jaiissjaql  sOu|||i»  jBfnBaj  puc 

£T 


cnish  Mean — on  ships 
ae  staterooms,  delicious 
est,  with  intimate  atmos- 
1  attention. 


DAYS   All  Expenses    $97.50 
-  up       16  DAYS    $125  up 
"  $95  up 

larribean    delights    afloat    and 
al,  Guatemala,  Honduras. 

17  DAYS  $170  up 

18  DAYS  $145  up 

^  embracing   Havana,   Jamaica, 
atemala,    Colombia.      Weekly 


MISS  KIRKLAND, 
MADAME  X  OF 
TRIBUNE,  DIES 


Was  Writer  on  Society 


•D0UIU- 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 


[Copyrig-ht:     Eugene  Hutcliinson.] 

TRIBUNE  WRITER 
DIES.  Miss  Caroline  Kirk- 
land,  known  as  Mme.  X. 
passes  away  in  hospital. 


'    / 


*»VWDu?  <S;"30J 

***»»*£  L.urw*1 


lOg      V 

Exchange: 

tark,  observing  us,  took  off  hts 
hat  and  executing  a  bow  with  a 
French  grace  that  would  have  made  a 
Beau  Brummell  envious  extended  his 
hand  to  father,  remarking: 

'"Youse  is  certainment  une  strang- 
ers.     I   keeps   zat   Sauganash   hotels, 
he's   bang    up    good    place    for   youse 
stops.    Mine   madam   se   is   une   bully, 
good  cook,  my  pets  ze  pe  gooses  fed- 
etz  su,  I  sleeps  zu,  une  dollair  I 
folks  ze  day.    Ze  boys  and  roil 
I  out   by    gar." 

icnior    Gale   for    some    reaso 

fed   Green    Tree    tavern,    across 

y.    His  son  remembered: 

,  the    dining    room   were    tables 

igth  of  the  loom,  covered  with 

checked   oil    cloth    loaded    with 

d  wild  ducks,  fricasse  of  prairie 

fens,    wild    pigeon     pot    pie,    tea,    , 

...  creamless,  but  sweetened  with    i 

/ulated  maple  sugar  procured  from   } 

/red  brethren.     These  furnished  a   j 

/juet  that  rendered  us  oblivious  to    , 

/ped  dishes,   flies  buzzing,   tangled    j 

'the   butter,    creeping   beetles,    and   i 

>ic  of  the  mosquito  band. 

Pewter  SfJoons,  Castors. 
We   paid   no   attention   to   pewter 
'Stors    containing    such    condimei 

mustard  in  an  uncovered  pot,  and 
lack  pepper  coarsely  crushed  by  the 
food    housewife,     or    to    cruets   with 
oroken    stoppers    filled    with    vinegar 
and  pepper  sauce.    Our  appetites  put 
'to     flight     fastidiousness,     and     even 
'  though    the    case    knives    and    forks 
had  never  been  scoured  we  took  for 
granted   that   they   had   been   washed 
after  every  meal." 

The  Green  Tree  tavern  served  for 
breakfast  the  following  delicacies: 
Fried  perch  just  out  of  the  river,  ven- 
ison steak,  griddle  c.  kes,  white  honey, 
and  manje  sugar. 

A  splash  of  color  In  the  drab  prai- 
rie colony  were  those  occasions  when 
the  sporting  blood  dressed  up  in 
bright  toggery  and  rode  to  the  few 
hounds  In  town.  There  were  balls  in 
the  big  unfinished  room  over  Wolf 
Point  tavern.  Sleighing  parties  would 
stop  at  the  tavern  for  a  slice  or  two 
of  cake. 

Empty  Whisky  Into  Lemonade. 
On  July  4,  1836,  a  social  event  took 
place  at  Canalport  honoring  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Illinois  and  Michigan 
canal.  There  is  a  story  told  that  the 
social  committee  chopped  lemons  and 
threw  the"m  in  the  nearby  spring  to 
make  lemonade  for  the  temperate  on- 
lookers. Then  some  one  spoiled  the 
lemonade  by  emptying  a  barrel  »f 
whisky  "which  so  permeated  the 
fountain  head  that  Bridgeport  people  '- 
feel  the  effects  to  this  day."  •  -_V 

Wolf  Point  tavern  on  Dec.  8,  1829, 
received    the    first    tavern    license 
j  Chicago  from  the  county  commis 
'  ers  i  ounty.    The  license  w  <- 


1 


WILLIAM    BUTLER    OGDEN 

CHICAGO'S    FIRST   MAYOR 


A  SHEAF  OF  REMINISCENCES 


GARNERED  BY 
CAROLINE  KIRKLAND 


DAUGHADAY  AND  COMPANY 

1919 


COPV RIGHT     .      1919     •      BY      DAUOHADAY      AND     COMPANY 
PUBLISHED      DECEMBER     •       IQIQ 


FOREWORD 

The  historian  sifts  and  sifts  through  his  sieve,  and  from 
the  residue  —  that  which  is  too  thick  and  solid  to  go  through 
his  meshes  —  he  constructs  his  story.  In  this  book  we  lov- 
ers of  Chicago  have  done  differently.  Only  that  which 
would  slip  through  the  sieve  is  here  offered  the  reader. 
Truth  lies  in  the  dust  that  the  scholar  rejects  as  well  as  in 
the  solid  nuggets  he  gathers.  From  this  dust  we  hope  to 
reconstruct  for  your  delectation  at  least  a  vision,  a  mirage 
of  the  simple,  hard-working,  every-day  existence  of  the 
men  and  women  of  yesterday  whose  dutiful,  industrious 
lives  bequeathed  to  us  of  to-day  one  of  the  wonders  of  this 
age. 

Fourth  city  on  the  globe  in  point  of  size  as  the  census 
goes,  Chicago  is  second  to  none  in  importance  as  the  great 
market  of  the  western  and  eastern  hemispheres.  Reapers 
made  in  Chicago  reap  the  grains  of  Siberia  and  the  Argen- 
tine. Products  of  Packingtown  support  life  at  the  North 
and  South  Poles,  and  in  the  loneliest,  remotest  of  the  Poly- 
nesian isles.  Steel  from  our  great  mills  forms  the  skeletons 
of  ships  on  the  seven  seas,  and  the  rails  of  transcontinental 
railways  in  distant  countries. 

The  strenuous  industrial  and  commercial  present  is  re- 
flected in  the  city's  social  life.  The  families  of  the  men  at 
the  head  of  the  vast  enterprises,  which  are  the  sources  of 
the  city's  power,  are  the  directing  force  in  Chicago's  soci- 
ety. They  organize  and  run  entertainments,  charitable  in- 


2040177 


iv  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

stitutions,  clubs,  and  reform  movements  of  all  kinds.  So 
absorbed  are  our  men  and  women  of  to-day,  however,  in 
their  many  activities  that  they  give  small  heed  to  the  city's 
very  honorable  and  interesting  past.  They  are  more  in- 
clined to  hang  it  up  in  a  dark  closet  like  an  outworn  cloak, 
instead  of  wearing  it  like  a  bright  diadem  as  do  older,  more 
mellow  cities.  This  lack  of  heed  to  our  predecessors  is  a 
sign  of  our  youth.  It  is  only  as  we  grow  older  that  our 
thoughts  turn  backward. 

It  is  but  the  lifetime  of  an  octogenarian  since  Chicago 
got  its  city  charter  in  1837.  At  that  time  it  had  no  water 
system,  no  drainage,  no  street  pavements,  no  railways  en- 
tered or  left  it.  It  was  the  crudest  of  frontier  towns.  But 
its  inhabitants  even  then  had  a  peculiar  pride  of  place. 
Writing  on  March  22,  1833,  Mrs.  R.  G.  Hamilton,  an  early 
resident,  said:  — 

"For  in  all  my  lifetime  I  never  saw  a  place  where  nature 
had  done  so  much.  Our  society  is  very  good  and  large  for 
a  place  so  new.  We  have  the  military  here,  who  are  very 
agreeable,  rather  gay  and  extravagant  for  my  turn  of  mind 
....  "  and  so  on  and  so  forth. 

In  the  letters  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Augustus  Burley,  in  Mr. 
Joseph  T.  Ryerson's  invaluable  memoir,  in  Mrs.  Leander 
McCormick's  charming  and  artless  account  of  the  furnish- 
ing of  her  first  house  here,  we  get  the  homely,  sweet  flavor 
of  those  early  days.  Mrs.  William  Blair  and  Mrs.  Arthur 
B.  Meeker  deal  delightfully  with  later  decades  and  bridge 
the  time  to  the  period  of  that  genial  and  friendly  west-side 
settlement  —  mainly  from  Kentucky  —  of  which  Mr.  Car- 
ter H.  Harrison  gives  so  vivid  a  description. 


FOREWORD  v 

Mrs.  Joseph  Frederick  Ward,  Mme.  Charles  Bigot,  and 
Miss  Mary  Drummond  make  the  sixties  and  seventies  live 
again  for  us.  Mrs.  Frederick  T.  West  and  Mrs.  Frederick 
Greeley,  daughters  of  eminent  pioneers,  give  us  vivid 
glimpses  of  the  aspect  of  a  north-side  residence  district,  a 
place  of  pleasant  homes,  set  in  large  gardens  on  quiet 
streets.  They  also  call  up  visions  of  Chicago's  greatest  dis- 
aster —  the  catastrophe  that  set  her  in  the  same  category 
with  Pompeii,  London,  and  Lisbon,  the  Chicago  Fire  of 
1871.  Mrs.  B.  F.  Ayer  brings  before  us  old  Hyde  Park. 

Mr.  Edward  Blair's  entertaining  narrative,  describing 
the  founding  of  the  Chicago  Club,  shows  our  society  grow- 
ing sophisticated,  and  links  the  past  to  the  present.  There 
is  no  stronger  contrast  in  the  book,  however,  than  Mrs. 
Robert  G.  McGann's  lively  picture  of  early  Lake  Forest  as 
it  stands  against  the  elegance,  fashion,  and  up-to-dateness 
of  that  community  to-day. 

Mr.  Hobart  C.  Chatfield-Taylor's  chapter  on  "The  Yes- 
terday of  the  Horse"  taps  wells  of  personal  memories  of 
people  who  —  well,  who  don't  consider  themselves  entirely 
ancient. 

To  conclude  this  collection  of  yesterdays  with  a  chapter 
from  Mrs.  William  J.  Calhoun,  on  the  WTorld's  Fair,  is  to 
put  the  cap-stone  on  a  fair  edifice  built  of  material  no  his- 
torian would  use.  Yet  who  shall  say  that  Chicago  of  other 
days  —  yesterdays  —  does  not  live  and  breathe  and  move 
in  these  pages  as  no  mere  searcher  after  dry-as-dust  facts 
could  make  her?  It  is  men  and  women,  and  the  children 
they  rear,  who  make  a  city,  not  the  streets  that  are  laid  out, 
the  houses  that  are  built,  nor  the  laws  that  are  passed. 
And,  if  after  reading  the  words  herein  set  down,  thoughts 


vi  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

may  occasionally  come  to  you  of  those  who  once  lived  here 
in  Chicago  as  ardently  as  you,  with  ideals  of  civic  and  do- 
mestic life  as  high  as  yours  —  if  not  higher  —  then  this 
book  has  not  been  achieved  in  vain,  though  it  be  composed 
only  of  historian's  dust. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FOREWORD iii 

I.   THE  TWENTIES  AND  THIRTIES       .      Caroline  Kirkland  1 

II.  A  PIONEER  COUPLE 

.    Letters  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Augustus  H.  Burley  15 

III.  A  NEW  HOME      .      Letter  of  Mrs.  Leander  McCormick  35 

IV.  THE  FIRST  CHURCH  WEDDING  IN  CHICAGO  .... 

Mrs.  Arthur  B.  Meeker  41 

V.   GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR 

Joseph  Turner  Ryerson  47 

VI.   OUT  OF  THE  PAST       ....       Mrs.  William  Blair  73 

VII.   As  I  REMEMBER  IT    .      .    Mrs.  Joseph  Frederick  Ward  88 

VIII.   LONG  AGO Mary  Drummond  117 

IX.   FORGOTTEN  CHICAGO  ....       Mme.  Charles  Bigot  143 

X.   A  KENTUCKY  COLONY      .      .      .        Carter  H.  Harrison  162 

XI.   OLD  HYDE  PARK Mrs.  B.  F.  Ayer  179 

XII.   BEFORE  THE  FIRE       ....  Mrs.  Frederick  Greeley  193 

XIII.  THE  CHICAGO  CLUB Edward  Blair  201 

XIV.  THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES    .      Mrs.  Frederick  T.  West  216 
XV.   EARLY  LAKE  FOREST          Mrs.  Robert  Greaves  McGann  237 

XVI.   FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR By  Various  People  257 

XVII.   THE  YESTERDAY  OF  THE  HORSE     . 

Hobart  C.  Chatfield- Taylor  273 

XVIII.   THE  WORLD'S  FAIR    .      .      .  Mrs.  William  J.  Calhoun  283 

INDEX  299 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

i 

THE  TWENTIES  AND  THIRTIES 

BY  CAROLINE  KIRKLAND 

WHERE  Madison  Street  crosses  State  Street  is  said  to  be 
the  most  traffic-congested  spot  in  the  world  to-day.  On 
foot  and  awheel  thousands  of  people  of  every  race  on  this 
round  and  rapidly  shrinking  globe  of  ours  pass  and  repass. 
The  roar  of  this  constant  movement  is  punctuated  by  the 
shrill  whistle  of  the  traffic  policeman.  The  warning  clang 
of  the  street -cars  is  almost  lost  in  the  general  din  that  rises 
skyward  in  waves  of  reverberation  to  vanish  in  the  upper 
ether. 

A  hundred  years  ago  this  same  spot  was  an  unnoticed 
part  of  a  flat,  marshy,  windswept  expanse  that  stretched 
from  the  sedge-bordered  banks  of  a  sluggish  little  river 
south  to  a  distant,  knoll-dotted  prairie,  and  west  to  one  of 
the  two  forks  that  fed  the  little  river.  Instead  of  to-day's 
high  buildings,  a  few  widely  scattered,  one-  or  two-roomed 
wooden  houses  dotted  the  green  waste  of  water-logged 
land.  Instead  of  to-day's  deafening  uproar,  the  breeze 
whispered  among  the  reeds.  The  quail's  clear  call  repre- 
sented the  policeman's  warning  whistle.  State  Street,  now 
flanked  by  magnificent  shops  and  towering  office  buildings, 
was  then  a  shallow,  fern-bordered  slough,  emptying  its 


2  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

muddy  surface  drainage,  by  a  slow  ooze,  into  the  sluggish 
river,  called  by  the  Indians  the  "  Che-ca-gou,"  or  Garlic- 
weed  creek. 

This  anemic  stream  staggered,  now  eastward,  now  west- 
ward. Spring  freshets  carried  its  waters  over  a  low  water 
divide  into  the  Desplaines  River,  and  thence ,  by  the  Illinois 
and  Mississippi  rivers,  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  The  rest  of 
the  year  it  drifted  nonchalantly  lakeward.  At  its  mouth  a 
sand-bar  opposed  its  career,  whereupon  it  turned  docilely 
southward  to  meet  the  lake  about  where  Madison  Street 
now  touches  the  shore. 

The  chief  sign  of  man's  handiwork  in  the  landscape  was 
Fort  Dearborn,  consisting  of  a  regulation  blockhouse,  char- 
acteristic of  our  frontiers  of  those  days.  This,  with  a  few 
low  buildings,  such  as  barracks,  officers'  quarters  and  store- 
houses, all  built  of  rough-hewn  logs,  was  enclosed  by  a 
stockade.  The  fort  was  the  second  on  this  site,  having 
been  built  in  1816  on  the  ruins  of  its  predecessor,  which 
had  been  looted  and  burnt  by  the  Indians  who  perpetrated 
what  is  now  known  as  the  Chicago  Massacre,  on  August 
15,  1812. 

Across  the  river  and  a  little  to  the  east  of  the  fort,  John 
Kinzie's  house  stood,  —  about  where  the  new  boulevard 
abutment  and  Kirk's  soap  factory  now  meet, — in  a  fence- 
enclosed  space,  with  three  tall  poplars  in  front  and  a  giant 
cottonwood  tree  shading  it  from  the  rear.  This  house  was 
the  center  of  many  social  activities  for  several  years. 

In  the  forest  of  low  scrub-oaks  and  other  deciduous  trees 
which  covered  what  is  now  the  "North  Side,"  deer  crashed 
through  the  underbrush.  On  the  river's  brink  the  unmo- 
lested crane  stood  for  hours  at  a  stretch  in  a  one-legged 


THE  TWENTIES  AND  THIRTIES  3 

contemplation  of  life  and  time.  Innumerable  water-fowl, 
wild  swan,  wild  geese,  and  wild  ducks,  semi-annually  settled 
in  vast  clouds  of  bird-dom  on  the  soggy,  sedge-grown 
reaches  adjacent  to  the  river. 

Where  now  the  West  Side  lies  in  a  huge,  more  or  less  rec- 
tangular conglomeration  of  streets,  parks,  and  buildings,  in 
1819  was  a  wide,  flower-grown  prairie  where  as  late  as  1837 
deer  were  hunted  with  hounds,  and  where  wolf  packs 
roamed,  filling  the  night  with  their  melancholy  and  disturb- 
ing hullabaloo.  They  even  prowled  about  the  habitations 
of  man  and  were  our  first  scavengers.  The  children  of 
that  era  after  nightfall  cowered  in  their  beds,  hiding  their 
heads  under  the  blankets  when  the  fierce  and  mournful 
howls  came  too  near  the  scattered  hamlet.  The  pack  loved 
best  to  congregate  near  Charlie  Cleaver's  soap  factory,  on 
the  North  Branch,  to  devour  the  scraps  thrown  out  from 
there.  Their  quarrels  disturbed  every  one  within  a  radius  of 
half  a  mile. 

Ashbel  Steele,  an  early  resident,  had  a  fine  team  and 
sleigh,  and  two  dogs  with  which  he  used  to  hunt  wolves  in 
the  winter  time  over  what  is  now  the  West  Side.  He  took 
with  him  his  wife  and  two  little  girls,  well  wrapped  up  in 
buffalo  robes,  and  in  his  letters,  now  in  the  archives  of  the 
Chicago  Historical  Society,  he  describes  the  thrill  of  the 
swift  flight  of  his  long-tailed  team  over  the  smooth,  flat 
surface  of  the  snowbound  prairie.  The  dogs  roused  the 
wolves  and  ran  them  down,  the  Steele  family  following  the 
chase  in  their  low  sleigh. 

The  same  writer  describes  an  afternoon  walk  between 
Clybourne's  house  and  Huntoon's  sawmill,  both  on  the 
northwest  side  of  the  city,  when  he  came  upon  the  bodies  of 


4  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

two  dead  Indians.  One  corpse  was  wrapped  up  and  laid  in 
the  branches  of  a  tree.  The  other  was  placed  in  a  fenced-in 
inclosure,  facing  eastward,  in  a  sitting  posture,  his  back 
against  a  tree,  his  pipes  by  his  side,  his  gun  across  the  life- 
less knees.  Mr.  Steele  didn't  know  that  this  strange  appari- 
tion was  the  body  of  an  Indian  chief,  Big  Thunder,  who 
had  requested  to  be  so  placed  after  death,  saying  :  — 

"  Out  of  the  East  shall  come  great  danger  to  my  people. 
When  it  comes  I  will  arise  and  lead  my  braves  to  victory." 
There  is  no  record  of  the  time  when  this  strange  spectacle 
disappeared  from  that  part  of  the  country. 

On  this  same  stroll  Mr.  Steele  describes  what  he  calls 
"Indian  ladders,"  which  were  used  to  climb  to  the  tops  of 
trees  for  racoons  and  wild  honey.  As  much  as  two  hundred 
pounds  of  honey  was  taken  at  a  time  from  one  tree. 

Browsing  among  the  records  and  yellow,  musty,  old  let- 
ters at  the  Chicago  Historical  Society  is  a  far  from  unplea- 
sant occupation.  Notes  there  gathered  mention  I.  K.  Bots- 
ford's  tinshop  as  being  the  first  building  on  Lake  Street,  the 
principal  thoroughfare  in  Chicago.  Near-by  was  Charles 
Follansbee's  "family  grocery  store,"  and  Tuthill  King's 
clothing  store. 

One  Thomas  Church,  who  landed  here  June  2,  1834,  with 
his  wife  and  two  little  girls,  has  left  some  letters  describing 
his  impressions  and  experiences.  He  says  that  he  found  less 
than  half  a  dozen  dwelling-houses  on  South  Water  Street; 
also  several  stores  and  the  huts  of  Indian  traders.  There 
was  then  not  even  a  foot-path  where  Lake  Street  now  runs 
east  and  west.  He  was  urged  by  the  residents  at  Wolf 
Point  to  buy  land  and  settle  there,  as  they  contended  that 
the  boggy  condition  of  the  territory  south  of  the  river  would 


THE  TWENTIES  AND  THIRTIES  5 

forever  prevent  its  being  usable.  During  the  periods  of  in- 
undation frequently  the  garrison  at  the  fort  could  only  be 
reached  by  boat  or  on  horseback.  When  he  wanted  to  get 
title  to  land  near  South  Water  Street,  either  it  was  marked 
as  preempted,  or  there  was  a  worn-out  and  stalled  wagon 
stuck  in  the  mire  which  it  would  have  cost  five  or  six  dollars 
to  dig  out  and  haul  away,  an  expense  the  value  of  the  site 
did  not  warrant.  Finally  he  built  a  store  and  house  in  "a 
pathless  region"  on  what  is  now  Lake  Street  west  of  Dear- 
born. Here  he  sold  groceries,  hardware,  tools,  crockery, 
and  paints,  and  dealt  with  the  Indians,  who  paid  him,  not 
in  cash,  but  in  furs,  deerskins,  and  game,  while  the  squaws 
brought  in  wild  berries  and  maple  sugar  in  birch -bark 
baskets. 

After  the  death  of  his  wife  in  1839  he  married  again;  this 
time  a  widow,  Mrs.  Benjamin  Jones,  and  built  for  her  and 
his  daughters  a  new  home  on  Lake  Street  just  west  of  where 
the  LeMoyne  block  now  stands.  He  had  a  garden  full  of 
flowers,  fruits  and  vegetables,  and  the  west  of  his  lot  he 
planted  thick  with  sunflowers  and  hollyhocks  to  neutralize 
"the  odiousness  of  Johnston's  soap  factory."  A  heavy 
growth  of  shrubbery  concealed  his  house  from  the  street, 
and  a  "snow-white  picket  fence,  whose  massive  posts  were 
surmounted  by  massive  balls,"  earned  for  his  place  the 
sobriquet  "the  snowball  garden." 

Mr.  Church  mentions  the  old  burial  ground  on  the  lake 
front  south  of  the  present  Madison  Street,  and  says  that 
easterly  storms  frequently  washed  away  the  earth,  exposing 
and  battering  to  pieces  the  coffins,  and  strewing  the  shore 
with  ghastly  remains. 

Everyone  was  not  buried  there,  however.  In  1832  the 


6  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

first  cholera  epidemic  visited  Chicago,  brought  here  by 
troops  from  Detroit.  Lack  of  any  appliances  for  combating 
the  disease  resulted  in  many  deaths  both  in  the  fort  and 
outside  of  it.  The  corpses  of  the  luckless  victims  were  hastily 
tossed  into  a  big  general  grave  or  trough,  dug  where  now 
Wabash  Avenue  touches  River  Street.  As  the  burial  squad, 
on  one  occasion,  was  hurrying  through  its  grewsome  task, 
one  corpse  sat  up  and  remonstrated,  which  sent  the  squad 
helter  skelter  back  to  the  fort. 

I  think  it  was  of  a  later  cholera  visitation  —  Chicago  had 
many  —  that  that  delightful  wit  and  raconteur,  Dr.  Charles 
Dyer, — now  long  dead,  —  used  to  love  to  tell  of  his  own 
part.  A  ship-load  of  cholera-stricken  people  arrived  in  port. 
He  was  delegated  to  take  off  such  as  he  thought  could  be 
saved.  Looking  over  the  miserable  victims  he  selected  fifteen, 
leaving  another  fifteen  to  certain  death,  as  he  supposed. 

Man  proposes;  God  disposes!  Dr.  Dyer's  fifteen  all  died 
of  the  disease;  those  he  left  on  the  ship  got  well!  What  can 
medical  science  do  with  such  obstinate,  unappreciative 
mortals? 

Life  in  the  third  decade  in  Chicago,  was  simple,  rugged, 
and  fairly  wholesome.  The  fort,  with  its  little  group  of  army 
officers  and  their  families,  was  the  center  of  sociability.  A  de- 
bating society,  which  met  there,  was  the  acme  of  gaiety. 
Scarcely  second  to  this,  however,  were  the  impromptu 
dances  which  took  place  in  the  old  Sauganash  Hotel  when 
the  innkeeper,  that  gay  and  genial  Frenchman  and  pioneer, 
Mark  Beaubien,  would  take  down  his  fiddle  and  set  all  feet 
twinkling  in  the  square-dances  of  that  period.  This  once 
popular  old  hostelry  stood  on  the  southeast  corner  of  Mar- 
ket and  Lake  streets.  On  this  same  site  Abraham  Lincoln 


THE  TWENTIES  AND  THIRTIES  7 

received  the  Republican  nomination  for  president  on  May 
18,  1860,  in  that  famous  old  convention  hall,  the  Wigwam. 

As  the  many  men  and  women  of  that  neighborhood 
transact  their  daily  business,  could  magic  turn  to-day's 
sights  and  sounds  into  those  that  filled  the  eye  and  the 
ear  on  that  spot  on  a  certain  day  eighty-four  years  ago, 
these  same  dutiful  clerks,  stenographers,  accountants,  and 
other  workers  would  forsake  desks  and  typewriters  and 
rush  to  doors  and  windows  that  command  that  part  of 
Lake  Street. 

On  August  18,  1835,  eight  hundred  Indian  braves  cele- 
brated the  signing  of  the  treaty  which  gave  all  their  claims 
to  land  in  and  around  Chicago  to  the  "pale  faces"  by  organ- 
izing a  great  war-dance.  Starting  on  the  north  side  of  the 
river  about  where  the  northeast  corner  of  Rush  and  Kinzie 
streets  now  is,  this  band  of  warriors  proceeded  along  the 
river's  brink  westward  to  the  north  branch.  They  were 
naked  except  for  loin  cloths;  their  faces  were  streaked  with 
paint  —  vermilion  and  red  predominating  —  with  accent- 
ing splashes  of  black.  The  coarse,  long,  black  hair  of  each 
brave  was  gathered  up  in  a  scalp-lock  on  the  top  of  the 
head,  and  adorned  with  hawks'  and  eagles'  feathers.  Leap- 
ing, crouching,  creeping,  bounding,  they  advanced  to  the 
hideous  din  of  their  own  band.  The  savage  rhythm  to  which 
their  wild  capers  corresponded  was  given  by  measured  beat- 
ing on  hollow  vessels  and  striking  war -clubs  together,  accom- 
panied by  discordant  yells,  made  more  horrible  by  the  rapid 
clapping  of  the  mouth  with  the  palm  of  the  hand,  —  that 
blood-curdling  Indian  war-whoop  which  is  fast  fading  even 
from  our  traditions,  but  which,  a  century  ago,  was  the  sig- 
nal for  terror  and  foreboding. 


8  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Crossing  the  north  branch  the  howling,  leaping  savages 
turned  southward  until  they  came  to  what  was  then  known 
as  Wolf  Point,  a  collection  of  rude  cabins  clustered  at  the 
junction  where  the  north  and  south  branches  met  to  form 
the  main  river.  They  crossed  the  south  branch  at  about 
where  Lake  Street  now  runs,  and  advanced  to  the  space  in 
front  of  the  Sauganash  Hotel.  The  windows  of  the  hotel 
parlors  on  the  second  floor  looking  westward  were  crowded 
with  spectators,  among  whom  was  the  young  lawyer,  John 
Dean  Caton,  and  his  pretty  bride,  Laura  Sherrill,  of  Utica. 
When  the  Indians  saw  white  women  watching  them,  their 
frenzy  increased.  Writing  of  the  scene  afterwards,  Judge 
Caton  thus  vividly  describes  it :  — 

"The  morning  was  very  warm  and  the  perspiration  was 
pouring  from  them.  Their  countenances  had  assumed  an 
expression  of  all  the  worst  passions  .  .  .  fierce  anger,  ter- 
rible hate,  dire  revenge,  remorseless  cruelty  —  all  were  ex- 
pressed in  their  terrible  features.  .  .  .  Their  tomahawks  and 
clubs  were  thrown  and  brandished  in  every  direction  .  .  .  and 
with  every  step  and  every  gesture  they  uttered  the  most 
frightful  yells.  .  .  .  The  dance  consisted  of  leaps  and  spas- 
modic steps,  now  forward  and  now  back  or  sidewise,  the 
whole  body  distorted  into  every  imaginable  position;  most 
generally  stooping  forward  with  the  head  and  face  thrown 
up,  the  back  arched  down,  first  one  foot  thrown  far  for- 
ward and  withdrawn  and  the  other  similarly  thrust  out, 
frequently  squatting  quite  to  the  ground,  and  all  with  a 
movement  almost  as  quick  as  lightning. 

"When  the  head  of  the  column  reached  the  hotel,  while 
they  looked  up  at  the  windows  at  the  'Chemokoman 


THE  TWENTIES  AND  THIRTIES  9 

squaws'  ...  it  seemed  as  if  we  had  a  picture  of  hell  itself  be- 
fore us  and  a  carnival  of  the  damned  spirits  there  confined." 

Passing  on  eastward,  they  disbanded  under  the  Fort 
Dearborn  stockade  with  parting  yells,  to  end  their  last  day 
in  Chicago  in  a  final  glorious  debauch. 

The  thirties  of  the  last  century  in  Chicago  were  as 
lively  as  the  twenties  were  quiet.  Speculators,  gamblers, 
adventurers  of  all  kinds  flocked  to  the  frontier  settlement, 
along  with  the  solid  and  substantial  citizens  who  came  to 
found  families  and  fortunes  in  this  outpost  of  civilization. 
Many  arrived  by  the  big,  canvas-covered  wagons  called 
"prairie-schooners"  and  camped  in  a  semicircle  on  the  con- 
fines of  the  village.  Frequently  more  than  a  hundred  camp- 
fires  dotted  the  night  landscape.  Land  was  the  great  specu- 
lation then;  lots  in  1833,  for  instance,  selling  for  $3,000  that 
had  cost  their  owners  $80  the  year  before.  All  this,  however, 
is  a  matter  of  written  history  and  therefore  not  within  our  prov- 
ince. But  of  interest  alike  to  housekeeper  and  householder 
is  the  cost  of  living  in  that  era.  Viewed  in  the  light  of  to- 
day's expense  account,  it  looks  like  the  golden  age  to  you 
and  me.  Beef  was  six  cents  a  pound;  butter  the  same.  Flour 
was  three  dollars  a  barrel;  grouse  a  dollar  a  dozen;  quail 
thirty-seven  cents  a  dozen;  venison  a  dollar  and  a  half  the 
carcase.  Fruits  were  more  costly,  as  they  had  all  to  be 
brought  from  the  East  over  land  and  lake  —  a  long  and 
laborious  journey.  The  water  supply  was  primitive,  to  say 
the  least.  A  man  collected  water  from  the  margin  of  the 
lake  in  a  hogshead  and  peddled  it  from  door  to  door. 

Social  customs  were  informal  and  animated  by  that  spirit 
of  boundless  hospitality  which  is  to  this  day  the  unwritten 


10  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

law  in  Chicago  —  to  the  amazement  of  our  eastern  visitors. 
In  1837  the  daughter  of  one  of  our  earliest  settlers,  a 
French-Canadian,  La  Framboise,  was  married  to  a  Chicago 
postal  clerk,  name  not  recorded.  (Later  she  became  the 
wife  of  Medard  Beaubien.)  The  bridegroom  had  fifty  invi- 
tations struck  off  on  the  village  printing-press.  On  hints  he 
had  another  fifty  printed  and  distributed ;  then  a  hundred 
more.  Still  the  demand  for  invitations  grew,  so  he  an- 
nounced that  tickets  were  not  necessary  and  that  every 
one  might  come. 

In  1831  the  first  bridge  over  the  river  and  its  branches 
was  thrown  across  the  south  branch  between  where  now  it 
is  crossed  by  Lake  and  Randolph  streets.  It  cost  $286.20 
and  for  some  unexplained  reason  the  Pottawotamies  paid 
$200  of  this  sum.  Near  the  present  Kinzie  Street  bridge  a 
foot-bridge  was  built  in  1832.  In  1834  at  Dearborn  Street 
a  "jackknife"  bridge  was  constructed.  This  was  three  hun- 
dred feet  long,  with  a  sort  of  gallows  frame  at  each  end, 
and  was  drawn  up  and  let  down  by  cables  worked  by  hand- 
power. 

The  first  steamboat  entered  the  river  on  May  4,  1834. 
It  was  the  S.  S.  Michigan,  Captain  Blake,  and  owned  by 
Oliver  Newberry  of  Detroit,  brother  of  Walter  L.  Newberry 
of  Chicago,  whose  fortune  founded  the  library  bearing  his 
name. 

The  first  grain  elevators  were  on  the  north  side  of  the 
river,  which  made  south-side  business  men  so  envious  that 
they  tried  to  do  away  with  the  bridges  and  cut  off  the 
North  Side  from  any  communication  with  their  part  of 
town,  except  by  the  tedious  hand-worked  ferry  which  ran 
back  and  forth  where  Rush  Street  bridge  now  is.  Some 


THE  TWENTIES  AND  THIRTIES  11 

years  later,  to  improve  communication  between  the  north 
and  south  sides,  William  B.  Ogden  and  Walter  L.  Newberry, 
both  of  whom,  owned  much  north-side  property,  gave  the 
present  block  bounded  by  State,  Superior,  Cass  streets  and 
Chicago  Avenue,  where  stands  the  Cathedral  of  the  Holy 
Name  and  other  church-owned  buildings,  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  so  as  to  get  the  Catholic  vote  for  the  pro- 
posed Clark  Street  bridge.  This  vote  is  supposed  to  have 
carried  the  measure,  greatly  to  the  ultimate  advantage  of 
both  the  north  and  south  sides  of  the  city. 

In  1832,  Chicago  taxes  totalled  almost  $400,  which  was 
considered  a  matter  for  great  rejoicing.  In  1833  the  settle- 
ment became  a  regular  village,  with  old  John  Kinzie's  son, 
Major  John  H.  Kinzie  (his  title  came  from  Governor  Cass 
of  Michigan),  as  first  president  of  the  board  of  trustees. 
On  this  board  were  T.  V.  Owen,  Mark  Beaubien,  and  John 
Miller. 

Chicago  early  acquired  the  fire  habit  which  culminated 
in  the  famous  orgy  of  October  9,  1871.  Her  first  great  fire 
was  in  1838,  when  seventeen  wooden  buildings  on  Lake  and 
Dearborn  streets  were  swept  away,  including  the  original 
Tremont  House  on  the  northwest  corner  of  these  two 
streets.  In  1835  a  fire  company  had  been  formed  at  a  gen- 
eral meeting  of  citizens  called  for  this  purpose  in  Ike  Cook's 
saloon,  on  South  Water  Street.  A  month  later  the  village 
board  created  a  fire  department.  If  this  is  mentioned  here  it 
is  because  the  fire  brigade  was  a  part  of  fashionable,  social 
life  in  those  days.  Among  those  composing  this  first  fire 
company  were  John  K.  Wilson  (father  of  the  subsequent 
proprietor  of  the  Chicago  Journal),  P.  F.  W.  Peck,  E.  C. 
Brackett,  John  Holbrook,  Silas  B.  Cobb,  Arthur  B.  Meeker, 


12  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

James  K.  Botsford,  Grant  Goodrich,  William  H.  Taylor, 
George  W.  Snow,  Jeremiah  Price,  B.  W.  Raymond,  Ira 
Couch,  H.  O.  Stone,  T.  B.  Carter,  James  Wadsworth, 
Tuthill  King,  P.  C.  Sheldon,  Samuel  N.  Davis,  and  J.  M. 
Adsit.  The  company  bought  a  hand  engine  for  $894.38,  and 
it  was  the  correct  thing  for  everyone  to  go  to  a  fire  in  those 
days;  the  men  to  take  a  hand  in  passing  buckets  while  the 
women  passed  cups  of  hot  coffee.  As  the  buildings  were 
practically  all  of  wood  and  were  hastily  and  not  too 
carefully  constructed,  there  were  many  of  these  pleasant 
social  occasions.  In  the  Burley  letters  in  a  later  chapter  you 
get  an  interesting  account  of  the  firemen's  ball,  which  was 
the  chief  social  event  of  that  season. 

In  1837  Chicago  became  a  full-fledged  city,  with  William 
Butler  Ogden  as  its  first  mayor. 

Among  the  eminent  citizens  who  came  to  Chicago  in  this 
and  the  previous  decade  and  left  descendants,  direct  or 
collateral,  were  William  B.  Ogden,  John  Wentworth,  Justin 
Butterfield,  Philo  Otis,  H.  O.  Stone,  P.  F.  W.  Peck,  George 
W.  Dole,  George  W.  Snow,  Charles  Follansbee,  Walter  L. 
Newberry,  E.  K.  Rogers,  Silas  B.  Cobb,  Augustus  and 
Arthur  Burley,  Isaac  N.  Arnold,  Henry  Hubbard,  Daniel 
Brainerd,  Norman  B.  Judd,  Thomas  Bentley,  J.  Y.  Scam- 
mon,  Mark  Skinner,  Grant  Goodrich,  Alexander  Wolcott, 
Arthur  B.  Meeker,  William  Bross,  Henry  W.  Blodgett, 
Stephen  Gale,  and  Isaac  N.  Harmon.  Chicago's  most  not- 
able pioneer,  however,  was  Gurdon  Saltonstall  Hubbard, 
who  came  for  the  Astor  fur-trading  company  in  1821,  and 
was  practically  a  resident  of  this  city  from  then  on  until  his 
death  in  1886. 

One  name  among  those  of  the  pioneers  prominent  in  local 


THE  TWENTIES  AND  THIRTIES  13 

annals  about  that  time  here  listed  recalls  a  romance  which 
connects  Chicago  with  one  of  the  most  celebrated  English 
writers  of  the  past  thirty  years,  Rudyard  Kipling,  and,  as 
this  chapter  purports  to  be  merely  a  not  too  coherent  as- 
sembling of  personalities  and  incidents,  I  venture  to  bring 
it  in  here. 

Ellen  Marion  Kinzie,  eldest  child  of  John  Kinzie,  who 
married  Dr.  Alexander  Wolcott,  had  a  niece-in-law,  Caro- 
line Wolcott,  gay,  pretty  and  much  admired,  who  came  to 
visit  her  Chicago  connections,  the  John  H.  Kinzies,  in  the 
late  thirties.  She  was  only  sixteen  years  old  at  the  time. 
Therefore,  when  young  Joseph  N.  Balestier,  a  brilliant  and 
enterprising  citizen  who  had  come  to  Chicago  from  the 
South,  met  and  fell  violently  in  love  with  her  and  she  with 
him,  her  Chicago  hosts  strongly  opposed  the  marriage.  One 
story  goes  that  the  ardent  young  couple  were  on  the  eve  of 
elopement  when  they  were  intercepted  and  induced  to  ask 
once  more  for  the  consent  of  Miss  Wolcott's  temporary 
guardians.  This  was  finally  secured.  The  marriage  took 
place  and  the  Balestiers  ultimately  settled  in  Brattleboro, 
Vermont.  A  grandson,  Wolcott  Balestier,  became  Rudyard 
Kipling's  Fidus  Achates<,  and  a  collaborates  in  one  or  more 
of  his  books.  After  the  death  of  the  former,  the  now  famous 
English  author  married  the  sister,  Miss  Caroline  Balestier, 
and  in  this  roundabout  way  established  a  relationship  with 
Chicago.  In  his  children's  veins  runs  the  blood  of  some  of 
Chicago's  early  settlers,  that  fine  crop  of  citizens  who  gave 
this  city  its  best  characteristics. 

Kipling's  one  visit  to  Chicago,  some  time  in  the  last  de- 
cade of  the  last  century,  left  such  a  bad  taste  in  his  mouth 
that,  of  all  his  bitter  comments  as  to  his  trip  across  this 


14  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

continent,  his  diatribe  on  Chicago  was  the  most  stinging. 
But  then  he  had  not  yet  married  a  descendant  of  one  of  our 
f.  f.  C.'s. 

From  this  point  on,  lights  are  turned  on  some  of  Chicago's 
yesterdays  by  the  various  contributors  to  this  volume,  who, 
for  the  love  of  Chicago,  have  kindly  searched  family  ar- 
chives and  their  own  memories  for  material  that  may,  we 
hope,  for  a  moment  hold  the  attention  of  impatient  to-day. 

Perhaps  the  narratives  here  set  forth  will  leave  a  per- 
manent impress  on  the  minds  of  their  readers,  so  that 
never  again  can  they  feel  detached  from  the  intangible,  but 
inescapable  clutch  of  the  past,  even  of  so  vibrantly  young 
and  lusty  a  city  as  Chicago. 

After  all,  what  is  it  that  makes  any  city  interesting  and 
gives  it  its  charm  and  flavor?  Is  it  its  present?  Decidedly 
not.  It  is  the  centuries  of  turmoil  and  achievement  which 
lie  behind  London,  Paris,  Florence,  Rome,  and  Athens  that 
draw  us  and  thousands,  even  millions,  of  other  tourists 
to  these  cities.  So  it  behooves  us  Chicagoans  to  cherish 
our  city's  past  and  to  write  its  history  in  street  names, 
parks,  and  monuments,  as  well  as  in  books  and  memoirs. 


II 

A  PIONEER  COUPLE 
LETTERS  OF  MB.  AND  MRS.  AUGUSTUS  H.  BURLEY 

Two  of  Chicago's  early  and  eminent  citizens  were  Arthur 
Burley  and  Augustus  H.  Burley,  brothers,  who  in  1837,  the 
year  Chicago  became  a  city,  came  from  Exeter,  N.  H., 
by  rail,  Sound  steamer,  river  boat,  canal  boat,  lake  ship, 
and  horse  and  wagon  to  the  uncouth,  unkempt  frontier 
settlement  that  sprawled  along  both  banks  of  a  shallow 
stream.  The  new  town  had  been  in  turn  a  halting  place 
for  wandering  Indians,  a  fur -traders'  camp,  a  military 
outpost  of  civilization,  and  now  was  fast  becoming  a 
business  center  for  a  rapidly  developing  agricultural  dis- 
trict. 

The  two  Burleys  were  preceded  by  their  half-brother, 
Stephen  Gale,  and  followed  later  by  their  younger  brother, 
Charles.  From  the  beginning  Augustus,  and  later  his  wife, 
Harriet,  kept  up  a  continuous  correspondence  with  their 
eastern  relatives  —  a  correspondence  which  gradually  un- 
folded a  graphic  picture  of  the  conditions  of  life  in  this  part 
of  the  world. 

From  this  carefully  treasured  bundle  of  letters  their 
son,  Mr.  Clarence  Burley,  has  allowed  me  to  cull 
what  I  need,  to  give  as  vivid  an  idea  as  such  frag- 
ments can  of  the  crude  conditions  and  interesting  de- 
velopment of  domestic  and  social  life  in  Chicago  from 
1837  to  1852. 


16  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Augustus  H.  Burley  writes  to  Miss  Harriet  M.  Gale  in 
New  England: — 

"  Chicago,  September  7,  1837 

".  .  .  .  The  times  are  exceedingly  dull  in  this  city  of 
Chicago;  there  is  no  business,  no  balls,  no  parties,  some 
shooting,  some  riding,  and  plenty  of  loafers,  and  to-day, 
after  the  rain,  a  plenty  of  mud  which  completes  the  picture, 
excepting  watermelons,  which  we  have  here  in  any  quant- 
ities (alias  slathers  of  them)  and  of  the  most  delicious 
flavor.  .  .  . 

"We1  have  started  a  Circulating  Library,  and  have  a 
room,  'most  finished  to  keep  it  in,  and  another  room  for  a 
sleeping  room,  which  form  an  addition  on  the  back  part  of 
the  store. 

"Chicago  is  a  pretty  good  place  for  men  that  are  in 
business  for  making  money,  but  it  is  a  miserable  place  for 
loafers,  —  for  there  is  no  '  Valient,'  no  '  Hampton  Beach,' 
no  theater,  no  museum,  or  any  other  place  except  our  store, 
which  is  generally  allowed  to  be  the  best  loafing-place  in 
the  city.  .  .  . 

"Chicago,  November  20,  1837 

"...  The  prairie  takes  fire  every  dry  day  that  we  have, 
and  in  the  evening  burns  beautifully  and  lights  up  the 
whole  sky.  The  weather  is  very  warm  for  the  season,  with 
more  than  the  usual  quantity  of  rain.  The  Indians  predict 
an  open  winter." 

Of  the  rugged  conditions  of  life  in  the  thirties  in  Chicago 

1  His  older  brother,  Arthur  Burley,  was  associated  with  him  in  this  and 
other  business  enterprises. 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  17 

these  extracts  give  proof :  — 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that  Edward  S.  is  coming  West,  for 
it  is  one  of  the  best  countries  for  young  men  that  can  be 
found;  it  completely  cures  them  of  all  greenness,  also  of 
weak  stomachs  and  fastidiousness.  I  can  eat 'most  any- 
thing, and  pull  a  long  hair  out  of  my  mouth  with  perfect 
nonchalance. 

;<  You  can  tell  Uncle  Gray  that  it  was  told  me  on  the  way 
that  I  should  learn  to  drink  rum,  brandy,  etc.  before  I  had 
staid  here  long,  but  I  have  not  drunk  anything  of  the  kind 
but  once,  and  then  I  was  actually  sick.  It  is  true  that  the 
water  here  is  first-rate  bad,  and  the  only  way  we  get  along 
is  by  drinking  a  great  deal  of  coffee  and  tea  —  two  coffees 
to  one  tea.  The  weather,  till  within  two  or  three  weeks,  has 
been  very  mild.  In  that  time  there  has  not  been  snow  enough 
to  stop  the  burning  of  the  prairies. 

"Chicago,  June  20,  1838 

".  .  .  .  Our  weather  this  spring  has  been  pretty  much 
the  same  as  usual,  rather  cold,  but  changeable  of  late.  We 
have  had  some  warm  weather,  and  a  great  deal  of  thunder 
and  lightning.  The  trees  and  the  earth  are  now  clothed  in 
their  beautiful  garment  of  green;  the  prairies  are  enlivened 
by  thousands  of  beautiful  flowers  and  the  birds,  insects,  and 
the  snakes  (O,  delightful  idea!)  are  as  lively  as  you  can 
imagine,  and  I  will  renew  my  promise  to  get  you  some 
flower  seeds  if  I  can.  .  .  . 

"I  suppose  that  you  will  laugh  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
have  got  the  itch,  and  I  believe  that  I  have  never  been 
fairly  rid  of  it  since  I  caught  it  of  Harrison.  It  does  not 
trouble  me,  only  by  its  breaking  out.  It  does  not  itch  any. 
It  is  called,  through  courtesy,  the  '  Prairie'  itch,  but  it  is  the 


18  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

old-fashioned  variety.  It  is  as  common  here  as  it  is  to  have 
warts  on  the  hands  or  any  other  little  troubles. 

''Chicago,  August  14,  1838 

"...  To  me  and  to  the  rest  of  us  the  distance  between 
here  and  Exeter  seems  only  a  step,  but  to  you  I  know  that 
it  seems  a  long  way.  If  the  waters  of  Lake  Michigan  con- 
tinue to  rise  for  a  year  or  two  more  Chicago  and  all  the  sur- 
rounding country  will  be  covered  with  one  vast  sheet  of 
water,  finding  an  outlet  through  the  Mississippi,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  this  place  must  find  a  home  elsewhere,  —  and 
I  for  one  will  find  said  home  farther  east. 

"Chicago  is  very  healthy  for  the  season;  we  have  had 
some  very  warm  weather  indeed,  but  now  we  have  a  cold 
snap  which  will  probably  last  a  day  or  two  longer,  and  will 
conduce  very  much  to  the  health  of  the  city.  Water-melons 
begin  to  come  in  in  large  quantities  and  of  excellent  flavor. 
Doesn't  your  mouth  water?" 

To  his  half-sister,  Harriet  M.  Gale,  he  writes:  — 

"Chicago,  December  28,  1838 

"...  We  have  moved  from  our  store  in  South  Water 
Street  to  a  new  one  on  the  corner  of  Lake  and  La  Salle 
streets.  Lake  Street  being  our  principal  business  street,  the 
stand  is  much  better  for  our  business  than  the  old  one.  The 
store  is  large  and  airy.  We  have  it  hung  around,  in  the 
back  part  of  the  library  room,  with  portraits  of  Indian 
chiefs,  of  which  more  anon. 

'The  store  is  well  finished  and,  when  we  first  came  into 
it  with  our  new  stock,  looked  very  well.  Now  some  of  the 
shelves  are  getting  to  be  rather  bare,  which,  by  the  way, 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  19 

is  not  to  be  regretted,  only  as  it  spoils  the  uniformity  of  our 
arrangements. 

"The  Indian  portraits  I  spoke  of  are  from  a  work  pub- 
lished at  Philadelphia  under  the  patronage  of  the  Govern- 
ment, entitled  Indian  Biography,  being  portraits  of  dis- 
tinguished Indian  chiefs  and  warriors,  with  their  biogra- 
phies connected.  It  is  published  by  subscription;  (the  Govern- 
ment subscribed  $100,000  towards  it). 

"Stephen  is  agent  in  Chicago,  and  subscribed  his  pay  as 
agent  for  it,  amounting  to  more  than  the  subscription, 
which  for  the  whole  is  $120,  being  six  dollars  a  number  and 
twenty  numbers,  the  first  nine  numbers  being  published  and 
received.  Stephen  has  had  his  framed  in  black  walnut,  which 
I  think  is  very  appropriate.  They  hang  around  us  in  gloomy 
majesty,  and  form  an  excellent  ornament  to  our  store,  ex- 
citing a  great  deal  of  interest  and  curiosity  among  visitors 
in  general,  and  more  especially  among  some  Indians  of  the 
Winnebago  tribe  who  were  brought  in  to  see  them.  They 
appeared  very  much  pleased  with  them,  —  expressing  it  in 
frequent  grunts,  and  recognizing  several  of  the  likenesses. 

"As  to  Chicago,  it  is  pretty  much  the  same  old  place  — 
full  of  bustle,  activity,  and  the  flower  of  American  young 
men.  The  business  this  fall  has  been  very  much  increased 
by  the  southern  rivers  being  so  low  as  they  are,  and  their 
navigation  being  closed.  This  has  forced  a  great  deal  of 
southern  trade  to  Chicago.  This  trade  has  been  so  great 
that  it  has  nearly  emptied  Chicago  of  everything.  Salt  be- 
ing in  great  demand  at  the  South,  Chicago  has  been  drained 
of  nearly  all  except  a  lot  in  the  hands  of  one  man  who 
wants  it  for  his  own  use,  and  the  remainder  is  selling  at  six 
dollars  per  bushel.  All  other  articles  in  the  grocery  line 


20  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

have  risen  nearly  one  hundred  per  cent.  .  .  . 

"My  letter  has  now  had  a  resting  spell  for  about  one 
week,  during  which  time  I  have  been  too  busy  to  write, 
and  now  commence  again.  The  old  year  is  past  and  gone, 
and  the  new  year  has  come,  and  with  it  we  must  renew  the 
cares  and  troubles  of  those  which  are  past.  My  Christmas 
and  New  Year's  day  passed  the  same  as  usual, —  in  the 
store  all  the  time.  Stephen  attended  a  ball  at  Joliet  New 
Year's  night.  The  ball  was  very  large,  there  being  about 
sixty  couples,  everything  being  in  the  best  style. 

"There  was  also  a  ball  in  town,  but  it  was  small  and  did 
not  go  off  with  great  eclat.  The  New  York  fashion  of  calling 
upon  the  ladies  and  taking  a  glass  of  wine,  or  of  something 
else,  on  New  Year's  day,  is  in  vogue  here,  but,  as  my  time 
was  so  much  taken  up,  I  made  no  calls.  .  .  . 

"Chicago,  January  11,  1839 

"...  On  Tuesday  evening  there  was  a  ball  which  I  at- 
tended and  danced  until  two  o'clock  among  the  elite  of 
Chicago.  Last  night  there  was  a  party  which  I  did  not 
attend.  For  a  few  days  the  weather  has  been  very  mild, 
and  the  mud  is  up  to  one's  knees  nearly.  The  ladies  ride 
out  in  one-horse  carriages  without  any  seat  or  top,  and  a 
tail-board  like  a  potato  cart.  The  river  is  breaking  up  and 
it  is  very  much  feared  that  it  will  not  be  closed  again.  - 
Here  comes  Arthur  with  a  green  blind  over  his  eye.  —  Dur- 
ing this  bad  going,  business  is  very  dull ;  we  have  nothing  to 
do  but  stand  at  the  door  and  see  people  get  into  the  mud." 

The  flight  of  time  somewhat  developed  Mr.  Burley's 
gregariousness  and  letters  to  his  mother  in  the  winter  and 
summer  of  1841  show  Chicago's  early  social  tendencies:— 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  21 

"Chicago,  January  10,  1841 

•".  .  .  The  New  Year  commenced  here  with  the  New 
York  custom  of  calling  on  all  acquaintances.  I  mingled 
with  the  rest,  making,  myself,  thirty-three  calls,  most  of 
which  will  last  until  the  first  of  New  Year  again.  Stephen 
made  thirty  calls,  a  wonder  for  him." 

By  1843  Mr.  Burley  had  married  and  a  daughter  had 
been  born  to  the  young  couple.  A  letter  of  Mrs.  Burley's 
describing  a  journey  from  New  York  to  Chicago  is  es- 
pecially recommended  to  the  modern  traveler  who  is 
accustomed  to  stepping  on  the  Twentieth  Century  train 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  arriving  at  his  destina- 
tion in  eighteen  or  nineteen  hours :  - 

"  Chicago,  September  5,  1843 

"...  We  left  New  York  Saturday  eve  for  Albany. 
About  an  hour  before,  I  received  a  letter  from  Gus  with 
directions  for  me  to  buy  some  things,  as  he  had  concluded 
to  keep  house.  But  I  did  not,  as  we  had  no  time.  We  ar- 
rived in  Albany  early  the  next  morning.  I  went  to  see  my 
cousin  Charlotte  and  spent  the  forenoon  with  her.  She  was 
well  and  very  glad  to  see  me.  I  believe  she  is  to  be  married 
soon.  At  one  o'clock  we  took  the  cars  for  Buffalo.  Baby  was 
very  good  all  the  way.  We  had  a  large  car  but  no  saloon. 
There  were  but  seven  or  eight  on  board.  I  made  a  bed  for 
baby  on  one  of  the  seats  and  she  slept  there  all  night  as 
well  as  though  she  had  been  at  home.  Monday  eve  we 
reached  Buffalo  so  I  had  all  day  Tuesday  to  rest,  and 
Wednesday  noon  we  went  on  board  The  Western  and  started 
for  home.  Tell  Harriet  we  stopped  at  Detroit  after  I  was 


22  CHICAGO   YESTERDAYS 

abed  and  asleep,  but  Charles  went  on  shore  and  saw  the 
folks.  They  were  all  well.  You  know  I  have  a  habit  of  retir- 
ing very  early.  Thursday,  Friday,  and  Saturday  it  was  de- 
lightful on  the  lakes.  It  was  as  calm  as  could  be.  If  Harriet 
remembers,  we  could  have  no  music  on  board  The  Western 
when  we  went  home  because  one  of  the  band  was  sick.  He 
died  in  a  few  weeks  and  his  father  died  just  before  we  reached 
Mackinaw,  and  was  buried  while  we  were  there.  They  both 
died  from  bleedings  at  the  lungs  caused  by  playing  on 
wind  instruments.  There  is  another  son  in  the  band  and, 
as  the  father  was  dying,  he  motioned  for  the  son  not  to  play 
any  more. 

"Mrs.  Howe  was  at  Mackinaw  waiting  for  The  Western 
to  bring  her  child  to  Chicago.  It  is  quite  sick.  The  boat  was 
so  crowded  that  she  could  not  come.  I  was  thankful  she 
did  not,  afterwards,  for  I  do  not  know  what  would  have  be- 
come of  her  poor  child.  Just  before  we  left  Mackinaw  it 
began  to  blow  a  little  and  kept  increasing,  and  that  night 
we  had  as  severe  a  storm  as  has  been  known  on  the  lakes. 
The  boat  pitched  so  that  the  man  at  the  helm  had  to  be 
chained  fast  to  keep  from  going  overboard.  Some  horses  on 
the  lower  deck  got  nearly  drowned  from  having  the  waves 
wash  over  them  all  the  time.  We  saw  a  light  and  thought 
it  was  the  landing  place  at  Manitou  and  cast  anchor,  but 
the  cable  soon  parted  and  we  lost  the  anchor,  and,  as  we 
drifted  on,  we  found  that  the  light  proceeded  from  a  scow. 
Sometimes  we  would  go  on  a  minute  and  then  we  would  go 
back,  and  only  went  three  miles  in  five  hours.  About  day- 
light we  anchored  off  the  Manitou  and  were  safe,  but  could 
not  go  near  the  shore,  for  there  were  one  or  two  vessels 
aground  already.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  storm,  there  was  a 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  23 

child  born  on  the  boat  to  a  deck  passenger.  I  believe  the 
woman  was  made  quite  comfortable.  There  we  had  to  stay 
three  long,  long  days,  and  were  nearly  out  of  provisions  and 
had  to  live  on  two  meals  a  day.  Finally  we  found  that 
the  forward  deck  passengers  were  almost  starving.  They 
were  all  brought  up  and  had  one  good  meal.  Then  there 
was  but  enough  for  two  meals  more  and  nothing  to  be  got 
from  the  island,  and  all  the  other  boats  in  the  same  con- 
dition, so  Wednesday  morning  we  put  out  in  quite  a  blow, 
but  it  went  down  towards  night.  Thursday  noon  I  saw  the 
pier  at  Chicago  and  standing  on  it  was  my  dear  husband. 
We  had  six  hundred  people  on  board.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  anxiety  felt  here  about  the  boat. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  fill  my  letter  with  my  journey  home, 
but  Stephen  will  tell  all  about  Chicago  and  its  inhabitants. 
We  have  concluded  to  stay  at  Mrs.  Heights'  this  winter, 
and  have  a  girl  for  a  dollar  a  week  who  will  do  our  washing 
and  work  for  Mrs.  Heights  in  the  morning  to  pay  for  her 
board,  and  I  have  her  in  the  afternoon  to  take  care  of  the 
baby.  Do  you  think  it  a  good  arrangement?" 

The  following  is  especially  interesting  to  our  real-estate 
experts.  Mr.  Burley  writes  to  his  father,  James  Burley,  of 
Exeter,  N.  H.:- 

"  Chicago,  December  15,  1845 

"...  There  is  a  three-story  brick  store  a  short  distance 
above  our  present  situation,  on  the  second  twenty  feet  from 
the  N.  E.  corner  of  Lake  and  Clark  streets,  which  can  be 
purchased  for  six  thousand  dollars,  and  we  have  thought  it 
not  improbable  that  Mr.  Robinson  would  like  to  make  an 


24  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

investment  here  which  would  pay  him  good  interest. 

"The  store  is  three  stories  high  with  attic  and  80  feet 
in  depth  —  the  lot  is  100  feet  deep,  with  a  passage  way  at 
the  back  end  (for  the  use  of  it  and  the  next  20  feet)  across 
the  corner  lot,  to  remain  forever  open;  the  store  has  been 
built  seven  years  and  is  good,  tho'  in  need  of  some  repairs, 
to  plastering,  etc.,  and  wants  also  the  addition  of  iron  shut- 
ters; the  roof  is  tinned  and  painted. 

"Clark  Street  is  the  street  on  which  the  bridge  crosses 
the  river,  and  the  corners  of  Lake  and  Clark  streets  are 
considered  the  most  desirable  in  town. 

"We  should  be  willing  and  glad  to  take  a  five-year  lease, 
paying  $500  rent  besides  insurance  and  taxes.  This,  as 
stores  now  rent,  would  be  low. 

"I  should  prefer  hiring  the  money  and  making  the  pur- 
chase for  ourselves,  as  we  then  should  get  the  benefit  of 
the  rise  in  its  value,  which  we  consider  unquestionable,  but 
we  suppose  it  impracticable  to  borrow  the  amount  on  long 
time,  tho'  the  security  would  be  good  and  the  interest  at 
six  or  seven  per  cent  easy  for  us  to  pay,  and  be  a  low  rent. 

"  Chicago's  prospects  never  were  so  good,  nor  has  it  ever 
done  so  much  business  in  the  same  time,  as  this  fall.  The 
receipts  of  wheat  have  been  immense,  varying  from  20,000 
to  25,000  bushels  per  day  for  weeks  together,  and  some  days 
reaching  28,000  bushels.  The  cash  price  now  is  95  cents  and 
$1.00.  One  house  has  made  actually  $30,000  in  wheat  opera- 
tions, and  have  now  on  hand  100,000  bushels  at  an  aver- 
age cost  say  of  73c  or  75c. 

'The  speculating  mania  is  getting  fast  hold  again  of  the 
people,  there  is  no  disguising  it,  and  another  season  will 
see  '36  reenacted  in  Chicago.  Our  business  necessities  will 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  25 

keep  us  clear,  but  it  is  hard  to  avoid  wheat,  copper,  stock, 
land,  or  some  of  the  other  operations  in  which  'most  all 
take  a  chance.  .  .  . 

'You  may  think  my  expectations  extravagant  and  my 
picture  highly  colored,  but  it  is  not,  and,  could  you  see  the 
immense  strides  of  increase  our  city  actually  takes,  and  the 
business  it  does,  in  a  moment  you  would  feel  that  any  rea- 
sonable investment  would  repay  many  fold. 
"With  due  deference,  I  remain, 

:'Your  affectionate  son, 

"AUGUSTUS  H.  BURLEY." 

To  the  few  Chicagoans  whose  memories  go  back  to  the 
fifties  of  the  last  century  the  names,  Mrs.  Humphrey  and 
Mrs.  Payson,  will  recall  two  charming  sisters  of  French  ex- 
traction, their  father,  Eugene  Canda,  having  been  born  in 
France.  They  played  a  conspicuous  part  in  local  society. 
Their  names,  as  well  as  those  of  other  early  Chicagoans, 
progenitors  of  to-day's  prominent  families,  appear  in  this 
exceedingly  sprightly  letter  from  Mrs.  Burley:  — 

"Chicago,  November  15,  1846 

"...  I  suppose  ere  this  you  have  heard  that  Mr.  Payson 
is  married!!!  as  he  has  been  married  over  a  month.  They 
were  engaged  only  two  weeks,  and  his  sister  only  knew  of 
it  two  or  three  days  before.  Dr.  Stuart's  family  and  Mr. 
Bishop's  family  were  all  that  were  invited  to  the  wedding. 
Some  of  Mr.  Payson's  friends  are  very  angry  with  him  be- 
cause he  deceived  them  so.  He  said  that  he  was  only  going 
to  Buffalo  with  his  sister.  Wilder  said  he  was  sorry,  as  he 
wanted  to  send  a  package  by  him  to  Boston;  this  was  the 


26  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

night  before  he  left.  They  were  married  in  the  morning  be- 
fore breakfast  and  left  at  nine  o'clock.  They  expected  to 
stay  in  Boston  till  June,  so  I  expect  that  you  will  hear  of 
nothing  but  'the  beautiful  Mrs.  Pay  son  who  is  flourishing 
in  Boston.'  Wilder  and  Payson  have  been  acquainted  from 
boys  and  Nat  felt  a  little  hurt.  He  and  some  others  went 
down  to  see  the  boat  off.  They  merely  nodded  to  Mr.  Payson 
and  said  'good  morning  Miss  Canda,'  and  walked  off.  They 
made  believe  that  they  did  not  know  he  was  married,  and 
he  looked  so  sheepish. 

"I  understood  that  George  Meeker  said  to  her,  'I  con- 
gratulate you,  Mrs.  Payson.'  She  put  her  hand  over  her 
mouth  in  her  usual  fascinating  style,  and  said,  '  Dear  me,  I 
cannot  answer  to  that  name ! ' 

"Mrs.  Charles  Larrabee  was  here.  One  day  she  said  that 
when  Mr.  Payson  visited  her,  he  came  one  eve  and  said 
that  he  had  just  been  to  call  on  Mrs.  Humphrey  and  she 
was  a  very  pleasant  woman,  but,  said  he,  'I  should  not 
think  that  Dave  would  like  to  have  that  sister  of  hers  stay- 
ing there,  she  is  so  inferior  to  his  wife.'  Poor  Matty,  she 
cried  all  day  after  they  were  gone.  She  declares  that  neither 
of  them  want  the  other,  but  Mrs.  Humphrey  forced  them 
both  into  it.  But  enough !  I  guess  you  are  tired  of  Payson. 

"Mr.  Ogden  x  inquired  very  particularly  of  Gus  about 
you,  Mary.  I  really  think  you  must  have  made  an  impres- 
sion on  him.  Poor  Carry !  I  dread  to  speak  of  Mr.  Forrest. 
Jane  has  jilted  him;  she  is  engaged  to  someone  at  the  East. 
He  felt  dreadfully  about  it  and  went  to  Mary  Ann  Maxwell 
for  sympathy,  and  she  seemed  to  sympathize  so  well  with 
him  that  he  has  about  concluded  that  perhaps  she  will  do 

William  B.  Ogden,  Chicago's  first  mayor. 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  27 

just  as  well  as  Jane.  They  go  to  our  church  sometimes,  and 
then  walk  up  by  our  house  and  around  the  block  home  so 
as  to  make  the  walk  as  long  as  possible.  I  am  afraid  that 
your  chance  is  small,  and  I  hear  that  you  are  getting  fat. 
So  am  I,  just  think  of  that!  Judging  from  my  own  feelings 
I  suppose  you  must  be  delighted.  Would  you  not  like  to 
know  if  I  have  an  V  under  my  name?  Well,  guess  if  you 
can;  I  shall  not  tell  you.  I  have  gained  twelve  pounds  in 
six  weeks.  My  weight  now  is  116  pounds,  just  to  think  it! 
I  shall  catch  up  to  you  soon.  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life 
than  I  have  the  last  week.  Gus  has  got  a  barrel  of  cider  and 
I  drink  it  two  or  three  times  a  day.  I  think  it  does  me  a  great 
deal  of  good.  I  forgot  to  say  that  Miss  Cotton  is  an  uncle 
and  they  are  very  much  disappointed,  as  she  wished  to  be 
an  aunt.  Such  a  looking  baby  you  never  saw  in  all  your 
life;  it  looks  like  a  little  monkey. 

"Gus  brought  me  lots  of  pretty  things  from  New  York. 
A  cherry-colored  scarf;  a  gingham  dress  with  a  silk  stripe 
in  it  —  very  pretty;  a  Thibet  cloth  cloak,  a  dark  mulberry 
color;  a  bonnet,  trimmed  so  heavy,  which  he  only  paid  ten 
shillings  for  because  it  was  old-fashioned.  It  weighs  more 
than  the  worth  of  that.  It  is  perfectly  plain  and  just  what  I 
wanted.  I  went  down  to  Mrs.  Daniel's  to  get  my  bonnet 
trimmed  and  she  asked  me  if  I  would  not  bring  down  my 
silk  quilt  and  show  it  to  her.  Mrs.  King  had  told  her  of  it, 
and  she  said  that  she  would  save  me  some  pieces.  I  took  it 
down  and  she  gave  me  a  peck  of  most  beautiful  velvets,  all 
colors;  they  have  almost  set  me  wild  they  are  so  pretty.  I 
had  to  piece  two  blocks  before  I  could  do  anything  else.  I 
will  describe  them  to  you.  One  is  purple  satin  center,  next 
row  white  uncut  velvet ;  next  blue  velvet  and  the  last  row 


28  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

orange-colored  silk.  The  other  block  is  cherry  satin  center, 
next  white  velvet,  next  green  velvet,  and  last  pink  satin. 
Don't  you  think  they  must  be  pretty? 

"Would  you  believe  it?  I  am  almost  to  the  end  of  my  plain 
sewing.  I  have  my  cloak  to  make  and  then  I  shall  go  at  my 
quilt,  and  that  is  all  I  expect  to  do  this  winter.  I  mean  to 
go  out  and  enjoy  myself,  study  French,  etc.  I  have  a  great 
many  plans  laid  out  for  the  winter.  I  have  just  got  an  ex- 
tract book  to  try  and  improve  myself  in  writing  and  I  shall 
practice  on  my  guitar  all  I  can.  The  piano  is  sold. 

"News !  News !  News ! ! !  I  have  just  come  from  down  town. 
Mrs.  Walter  has  twins !  Two  boys  —  did  you  ever  hear  the 
like  of  that?  She  was  here  the  other  day  and  said  she  was 
going  to  have  twins  so  as  to  let  me  have  one.  She  has  been 
married  just  eight  months  and  two  days.  Joel  is  almost  be- 
side himself;  he  thinks  he  is  so  much  smarter  than  other 
folks.  ..." 

A  ball  in  January,  1847,  was  the  great  event  of  that 
social  season.  Mrs.  Burley  gives  this  picture  of  it :  — 

"The  Firemen's  Ball  was  the  22nd  of  January  and  was 
the  grandest  affair  that  Chicago  has  ever  known.  Gus  was 
one  of  the  managers.  There  were  thirty-five.  He  was  on 
the  committee  for  invitations.  They  sent  out  1,050,  just 
think  of  that !  Both  the  dining-  and  the  dancing-hall  were 
used  for  dancing.  They  were  trimmed  with  bunting  in 
festoons  all  over  the  ceiling.  The  firemen's  caps,  trumpets 
and  buckets  were  hung  all  around,  with  innumerable  lamps. 
The  new  engine,  No.  3,  was  trimmed  with  flowers  and  rib- 
bons and  set  in  the  lower  hall.  There  was  a  bell  hung  in 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  29 

each  hall  and  at  the  end  of  each  set  they  gave  a  stroke  on 
it  instead  of  a  tap  on  the  fiddle.  Both  bands  of  music  were 
very  good,  as  they  have  been  practicing  all  winter  for  the 
occasion.  They  had  supper-tables  set  in  three  rooms  all  the 
time,  so  as  not  to  stop  the  dancing.  Parties  of  about  two 
dozen  could  sit  at  one  table,  which  made  it  very  pleasant 
as  we  could  pick  our  company.  ..." 

In  that  decade  Chicago  was  just  rising  from  the  marshy 
banks  of  the  river.  Her  streets  were  at  times  impassable 
sloughs  only  to  be  traversed,  as  Mrs.  William  Blair  points 
out  in  another  chapter,  by  men  in  hip-high  boots  and  by 
women  in  two-wheeled  carts,  into  and  out  of  which  they 
had  to  be  lifted  by  strong  arms. 

The  men  of  the  community  were  all  hard  workers  then  as 
now,  frequently  staying  in  their  offices  and  shops  until 
after  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  women  were  as  in- 
dustrious as  their  men-folk.  Servants  were  few  and  far 
between,  and  none  too  competent.  The  women  of  that  epoch 
cooked  and  washed  and  scrubbed  and  cleaned  house,  with 
sewing,  tending  children,  and  church  work  as  recreation. 
Several  times  in  her  home  letters,  Mrs.  Burley  refers  to  a 
patchwork  silk  quilt  on  which  she  was  working.  Returning 
from  a  visit  in  1848  to  her  husband's  family  in  Exeter,  in 
writing  to  her  mother-in-law  she  completes  the  tale  of  the 
quilt,  which  was  evidently  a  work  of  art  of  much  renown :  — 

"I  suppose  you  are  skipping  all  this  to  hear  some  news 
of  the  quilt  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  first  as  last.  When  I 
got  home  I  found  the  Fair  was  deferred  till  the  10th  of 
November  and  that  my  quilt  would  not  be  considered  a 


30  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

quilt  if  it  was  not  finished,  and  two  or  three  said  it  would 
look  so  much  better  if  it  had  a  border.  I  was  discouraged, 
for  I  had  so  much  to  do  and  was  more  than  half  sick  and 
had  neither  silk  nor  velvet  for  a  border,  so  I  concluded  not 
to  send  it  to  the  Fair.  Now  I  think  I  hear  you  exclaim, 
*  Foolish  child  to  spend  all  summer  for  nothing!'  but  I 
wasn't  a  bit  and  I  will  tell  the  rest  of  the  story.  My  neigh- 
bors all  saw  how  the  case  stood  and  thought  if  it  was  fin- 
ished it  would  take  the  prize,  so  they  brought  all  their 
pieces  of  silk  and  thimbles.  Gus  got  some  more  velvet  and 
turkey  red  to  line  it,  and  red  ribbon  to  bind  it  and  lo !  it 
was  done.  The  border  was  pieced  in  points  alternate  of  silk 
and  velvet.  It  went  to  the  Fair  and  took  the  first  prize  from 
twenty-five  quilts !  There  were  some  there  with  more  pieces 
and  some  that  looked  prettier  as  they  hung,  but  none  bore 
examination  so  well  as  mine.  I  did  not  think  mine  looked 
so  pretty  there  as  it  did  at  home,  as  it  hung  so  high  that  it 
looked  dark  and  small.  The  prize  is  a  very  handsome  basket 
worth  about  $15.00." 

The  survival  of  the  fittest  was  the  rule  in  those  rugged, 
strenuous  days.  "The  white  plague"  claimed  many  a  vic- 
tim, especially  among  the  women  who  lived  in  airtight 
houses  heated  by  the  deadly  airtight  stove  —  successor  to 
the  unconscionably  open  fireplace. 

The  common  phrase  of  the  time  was,  "she  just  went  into 
a  decline  and  pined  away,"  or  "she  had  the  galloping  con- 
sumption and  died."  The  nature  of  the  disease  was  so  little 
understood  that  the  first  step  taken  was  to  shut  the  victim 
up  in  rooms  still  more  hermetically  sealed  from  the  health- 
giving  fresh  air  outside,  and  to  torture  the  sufferers  with 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  31 

plasters,  and  dose  them  with  strong  drugs.  After  writing 
about  the  quilt,  Mrs.  Burley  continues:  — 

"  My  cough  has  been  getting  gradually  worse  since  I  came 
home,  and  about  three  weeks  ago  Dr.  Boone  examined  my 
lungs.  He  says  that  my  left  lung  is  perfectly  sound,  but 
there  is  an  inflammation  of  the  bronchial  tubes  of  the  right 
lung,  or  congestion,  he  calls  it.  Since  then  I  have  had  a  sorry 
time  of  it.  I  have  been  plastered,  blistered  and  dosed  till, 
as  I  told  the  doctor  yesterday,  *I  thought  the  remedy 
much  worse  than  the  disease.'  Did  you  ever  have  a  tar- 
tar emetic  plaster?  If  you  did,  you  know  how  to  pity  me 
for  I  have  one  on  all  the  time  and  sometimes  three  at  a 
time,  on  my  breast,  side,  and  back.  Every  three  hours  I 
take  a  dose  of  ipecac  and  paregoric.  So  between  drowsi- 
ness and  sickness  at  my  stomach  all  the  time,  I  am  not 
very  interesting,  and  you  may  feel  thankful  that  you  are 
rid  of  my  company.  Notwithstanding  what  Hatty  says 
about  exercise,  the  doctor  will  not  let  me  even  hold  the 
baby  or  poke  my  nose  out  the  window,  nor  do  anything  like 
work.  He  has  said  nothing  about  my  sewing,  but  I  am 
growing  downright  lazy,  so  much  so  that  I  do  not  even 
darn  my  own  stockings.  I  really  do  not  believe  I  have  my 
wits  more  than  half  the  time  as  I  take  so  much  paregoric." 

A  few  months  later,  in  February,  1849,  she  writes  to  her 
father-in-law,  the  last  letter  of  hers  in  the  series :  — 

"...  I  am  about  half  sick  all  the  time  and  feel  so  stupid 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  do  anything.  The  only  thing 
that  I  feel  like  doing,  you  and  the  doctor  deny  me.  I  do  not 


32  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

feel  well  enough  to  go  out  often;  I  get  tired  reading;  it  gives 
me  a  pain  in  my  side  to  write;  you  will  not  let  me  sew,  and 
here  I  have  to  sit  and  fold  my  hands  and  rock  all  day  - 
which  is  the  hardest  work  of  all.  I  have  gotten  so  used  to 
the  rocking-chair  now  that  anyone  might  take  me  for  one  of 
the  Smith  family  (if  you  do  not  understand  this,  Harriet 
will).  I  wish  I  had  one  of  the  girls  here  this  winter  to  keep 
me  company.  Gus  can  never  leave  the  store  till  nine  or  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening  and  I  get  so  tired  of  sitting  here 
alone. 

"This  winter  I  have  been  plastered,  blistered,  cupped, 
taken  ipecac  every  two  hours  for  weeks  and  now  I  am  in  the 
stocks.  Some  time  ago  Gus  wrote  to  Dr.  Fitch  of  New 
York  (the  great  consumption  doctor)  about  me,  and  yes- 
terday came  a  box  from  him  containing  twenty-one  bottles 
of  medicine,  four  boxes  of  pills,  shoulder-braces,  back-sup- 
porters, inhaling  tube,  pamphlets,  directions,  etc. 

"Now,  I  am  in  for  a  siege.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  find  the 
remedy  worse  than  the  disease.  I  suppose  you  will  say, 
*  Serve  you  right,  no  school  like  experience:  you  must  let 
sewing  alone,  bed-quilts  particularly.'  Whatever  is  the 
cause,  I  'pay  dear  for  the  whistle." 

The  wordless  hiatus  between  this  and  the  next  in  the 
series  dated  May  23,  1852,  from  Mr.  Burley  to  his  half- 
sister,  Miss  Harriet  M.  Gale,  tells  its  own  story.  Once  more 
he  is  a  bachelor,  alone,  working  out  his  destiny  in  Chicago, 
only  this  time  in  much  greater  material  comfort  than  when 
he  arrived  in  1837.  He  no  longer  has  to  practise  sang-froid 
when  plucking  a  hair  from  the  stew,  or  cope  with  the  crude 
conditions  of  fifteen  years  before :  — 


A  PIONEER  COUPLE  33 

"DEAR  SISTER: 

"Here  I  sit  in  my  new  quarters  with  a  window  open  look- 
ing up  Clark  Street  upon  a  crowd  of  promenaders,  who  are 
all  out  to  enjoy  one  of  the  very  fine  afternoons  of  the  season. 
The  bells  are  just  ringing  for  evening  service.  My  rooms 
(parlor  and  bedroom)  are  on  the  corner  of  Clark  and  Lake 
streets,  fifth  story,  with  two  windows  on  south  and  three  on 
east  side,  being  about  the  pleasantest  in  town.  The  front 
room  is  carpeted  with  the  blue  and  white. 

"Our  city  is  and  has  been  for  some  weeks  quite  full  of 
strangers,  many  of  whom  have  been  attracted  by  the  land 
sales.  And  both  railroads,  being  now  completed  to  the  city, 
are  bringing  large  additions,  making  everything  appear 
lively  and  very  materially  increasing  business.  I  have  found 
an  abundance  to  do  since  my  return.  Arthur  seems  also  to 
be  very  busy.  .  .  . 

"Say  to  John  that  the  strides  of  Chicago  are  enormous, 
its  increase  is  astonishing.  The  streets,  hotels,  everything  is 
filled  to  overflowing  and  business,  tho'  now  dull,  has  been 
very  large.  It  seems  impossible  to  conceive  when  or  where 
it  will  stop.  The  improvement  astonishes  even  the  old 
settlers.  Our  city  has  been  filled  with  men  of  note  and 
wealth  from  the  east,  many  of  whom  have  been  buying 
property  and  taking  stock  in  our  railroads.  .  .  . 

"Our  Fourth  of  July  passed  off  without  any  fuss  in  par- 
ticular. On  Tuesday  last  we  had  a  procession  and  eulogy  in 
honor  of  Henry  Clay  and  it  was  the  largest  and  most  im- 
posing thing  of  the  kind  ever  gotten  up  here.  Your  humble 
servant  was  one  of  the  marshals  and  had  the  pleasure  of 
being  in  the  saddle  during  four  of  the  hottest  hours  that 
need  be.  The  procession  moved  from  Michigan  and  Wabash 


34  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

avenues  and  State  Street  on  to  the  West  Side  and  back,  and 
then  on  to  the  North  Side  to  public  ground  opposite  Mr. 
Ogden's,  where  the  eulogy  was  delivered  by  Lisle  Smith. 
The  stores  were  all  closed  and  many  hung  in  mourning. 
The  bells  were  all  tolled  and  guns  fired  during  the  moving  of 
the  procession.  .  .  . 

"Charles1  has  been  elected  to  the  important  position  of 
Foreman  of  the  Hook-and-Ladder  Company.  ..." 

1  A  brother. 


Ill 

A  NEW  HOME 

LETTER  OF  MRS.  LEANDER  McCoRMicK 

A  COMPLEMENT  to  the  preceding  chapter,  which  gives  a 
glimpse  of  some  of  the  outward  aspects  of  life  in  Chicago, 
is  this  artless,  engaging,  garrulous  letter  written  by  the 
late  Mrs.  Leander  McCormick  on  arriving  here  in  1838. 

No  family  is  more  thoroughly  identified  with  this  city 
to-day  than  the  McCormick  family,  descendants  of  the 
three  Virginia  brothers,  Leander,  Cyrus,  and  William.  They 
are  leaders  in  the  industrial,  social  and  philanthropic  life  of 
Chicago.  Their  name  is  known  in  every  country  on  this 
globe  where  harvests  are  sown  and  gathered.  The  incomes 
of  the  great  fortunes  that  have  come  to  them  through  the 
world-famous  business,  which  for  so  long  bore  their  name, 
and  through  wise  investments,  have  been  spent  with  the 
same  ability  as  the  fortunes  were  made.  Charities,  local  and 
foreign,  civic  institutions  making  for  music  and  art,  educa- 
tional enterprises,  have  all  been  benefited  by  McCormick 
aid ;  while  the  most  magnificent  of  the  Medici  princes  was 
not  better  known  to  the  art  dealers  of  his  time  than  are,  or 
have  been,  some  of  the  McCormicks  of  to-day.  The  "little 
Hall"  referred  to  in  this  letter  was  the  late  Robert  Hall 
McCormick,  whose  collection  of  the  works  of  famous  Eng- 
lish portrait  painters  from  the  time  of  Van  Dyck  down  to 
Watts  and  Rossetti  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  largest  and  most 
complete  in  this  country.  He  also  delighted  in  collecting 


36  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

curios,  tapestries,  rugs,  furniture,  and  other  objects  of  art. 
His  house  on  Rush  Street  was  crowded  with  interesting, 
valuable  examples  of  the  art  and  handicraft  of  ancient  and 
modern  times.  He  had  made  and  published  for  private  cir- 
culation a  really  beautiful  illustrated  catalogue  of  the  best  of 
his  possessions,  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  he  took  no  deeper 
satisfaction  in  the  ownership  of  his  treasures  than  did  his 
mother  in  her  "beautiful  flowered  red  and  green  carpet," 
her  "dozen  cushioned  mahogany  chairs,"  and  her  "twenty- 
four-dollar  card-table  in  the  parlor." 

Nothing  more  completely  epitomizes  the  growth  of  Chi- 
cago than  the  contrast  between  this  first  home  made  by  the 
Leander  McCormicks  and  the  many  and  beautiful  resi- 
dences in  and  near  the  city  of  their  adoption  now  built  and 
occupied  by  the  descendants  of  the  three  brothers.  It  is 
such  sharp  contrasts,  such  swift  developments  from  simple 
beginnings  to  sumptuous  fruition  within  the  span  of  one 
lifetime,  which  have  made  the  name  of  the  city  of  Chicago 
famous  the  world  over. 

To  be  inscribed  on  an  hotel  register  as  coming  from  Chi- 
cago, no  matter  what  your  real  financial  status  may  be,  is 
to  be  accepted  immediately  as  having  the  wherewithal  to 
pay  your  way  and  something  over.  But  familiarity  with 
the  fact  does  not  diminish  the  wonder  of  the  accomplish- 
ment so  emphasized  by  this  happy  young  wife  and  mother 
of  1838:- 

"Chicago,  December  3,  1838 
"My  DEAR  SISTER  MARTHA  ANN: 

"We  arrived  in  this  city  nearly  two  weeks  ago,  after 
having  a  very  pleasant  and  safe  journey  from  Rockbridge. 


A  NEW  HOME  37 

It  was  twelve  days  from  the  time  we  left  Pa's  till  we  reached 
here,  and  we  could  have  come  in  seven  days  if  we  had  not 
been  detained  on  the  way,  and  if  we  had  been  so  fortunate 
as  to  have  taken  a  swifter  boat  for  crossing  Lake  Erie. 
But  we  happened  to  get  into  a  slow  boat,  and  were  three 
days  crossing  the  lake,  while  other  boats  came  over  in  one 
day.  That  was  the  most  unpleasant  part  of  our  trip. 
Leander  and  myself  were  both  seasick,  and  I  had  Hall1 
to  nurse,  so  that  I  was  worn  out  and  tired  of  that  part 
of  the  trip. 

"Since  we  have  been  here,  we  have  been  boarding  at 
the  Sherman  House  (the  finest  hotel  in  the  City),  until  the 
first  day  of  this  month.  On  that  day  we  commenced  house- 
keeping. We  are  very  nicely  fixed  indeed,  and  are  very 
much  pleased  with  our  new  home  and  friends  so  far.  I 
would  be  so  glad  if  you  and  Ma  and  my  friends  could  see 
how  well  we  are  fixed  for  housekeeping. 

"I  have  drawn  off  in  a  careless  manner  the  plan  of  this 
house  which  I  will  put  in  the  letter.  Our  furniture  is  all  new 
and  of  the  best  quality.  Beautiful  flowered  red  and  green 
carpet  in  the  chamber  and  parlor,  and  when  the  folding 
doors  are  open,  the  stove  in  the  chamber  will  heat  both 
rooms.  One  dozen  cushioned  mahogany  chairs  for  the  two 
rooms,  beautiful  bureau  in  the  chamber,  and  a  twenty -four 
dollar  card-table  in  the  parlor.  I  would  like  to  have  a  sofa 
and  a  pretty  lamp  in  the  parlor,  and  think  likely  we  will 
get  them  before  long.  The  stairs  are  carpeted  and  the  pas- 
sage floor  has  oilcloth  on  it.  The  dining-room  is  not  fur- 
nished except  with  nice  chairs  and  tables;  my  dishes  and 

1  R.  Hall  McCormick,  later  one  of  Chicago's  well-known  citizens  and  art 
collectors. 


38  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

eatables  are  kept  in  the  pantry.  There  are  three  rooms 
up  stairs,  one  finely  furnished  for  Cyrus,1  the  others  will 
not  be  furnished  till  we  get  our  boxes  of  beds  and  bed 
clothes. 

"December  10,  1838 

"It  is  one  week  to-day  since  the  above  was  written,  and 
I  had  concluded  not  to  send  it,  but  as  it  will  save  me  some 
trouble  of  writing  it  over,  I  will  add  a  few  lines  more  and 
put  it  in  the  post  office.  We  are  all  very  well  at  present, 
and  very  much  pleased  indeed.  This  city  contains  twenty- 
thousand  inhabitants,  but  it  does  not  compare  with  some 
places  of  its  size,  not  even  with  Lexington  with  regard  to 
buildings.  The  houses  here  are  nearly  all  frame,  but  quite 
large,  and  some  very  fine  brick  buildings.  I  don't  think 
the  people  any  more  fashionable  or  gay  than  they  are  in 
Pa's  neighborhood.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  and  family  are 
our  most  particular  friends,  and  they  are  as  friendly  with 
us  as  any  of  our  old  acquaintances  in  Rockbridge.  Mrs. 
Hamilton  is  from  Kentucky,  and  she  seems  to  look  upon 
us  as  kinfolks. 

"A  great  many  Yankees  here.  Mrs.  Hamilton  does  not  like 
them  much.  She  says  that  we  must  have  a  Southern  society, 
and  let  the  Yankees,  Germans,  Irish,  French  all  alone.  The 
people  here  seem  to  be  from  all  quarters  of  the  globe.  We 
will  soon  have  as  many  acquaintances  as  we  want,  and  of 
the  best  in  the  city. 

"Leander  and  myself  have  brushed  up  considerably.  He 

1  Cyrus  McConnick,  the  founder  of  the  great  company  now  known  as  the 
"International  Harvester  Company." 


A  NEW  HOME  39 

has  bought  a  new  suit,  overcoat  and  all.  I  bought  a  very 
fine  velvet  bonnet  in  New  York  for  $3.50.  It  is  prettier 
than  any  I  have  seen  here.  A  milliner  here  said  that  it 
would  have  cost  $8.00  in  Chicago.  It  is  cherry  color  with 
plume  and  ribbon  of  the  same  color.  I  bought  a  small  cloak 
the  other  day  for  $11.00.  I  have  two  women  at  present. 
The  kitchen  woman  is  the  best  I  ever  saw,  either  white  or 
black;  she  is  so  good  that  she  leaves  nothing  for  the  house 
woman  to  do  except  nurse,  so  that  I  will  give  up  the  house 
woman  and  get  a  little  girl  for  a  nurse. 

"The  white  servants  here  are  greater  workers  than  the 
blacks  in  Virginia ;  they  do  everything  you  tell  them  to  do 
and  do  a  great  deal  better  than  black  people.  The  white 
woman  that  we  have  is  better  than  any  black  woman  I 
ever  saw.  She  keeps  everything  in  order  and  perfectly  nice. 
I  have  everything  here  that  anyone  could  wish  to  make  me 
happy,  except  my  relations,  and  I  live  in  hopes  that  I  will 
see  some  of  them  here  next  summer. 

"They  have  most  excellent  markets  in  this  place.  We 
can  get  the  best  of  meat  of  every  description  for  four  cents 
per  pound,  such  as  sausages,  venison,  beef,  pork  and  every- 
thing except  fowls,  they  are  very  high-priced.  We  can  get 
most  excellent  apples  and  dried  peaches,  also  cranberries, 
which  I  am  very  fond  of.  The  people  here  cook  very  dif- 
ferently from  what  they  do  in  Virginia.  Here  they  live  on 
tea,  cold  meat  and  bread,  crackers  and  cheese,  pastry  and 
cakes,  and  Irish  potatoes  for  supper  and  breakfast.  They 
never  have  a  single  meal  without  potatoes. 

"Do  excuse  this  letter,  if  you  please.  It  looks  so  badly 
that  I  would  not  send  it,  but  as  I  have  written  so  many 


40  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

little  particulars,  I  think  I  had  better  send  it. 

"You  must  write  soon,  and  give  me  all  particulars  as  I 
have  done.  Leander  sends  his  love  and  says  that  he  will 
write  to  James  in  a  few  days.  My  best  love  to  him  also. 

Your  affectionate  sister, 

"HENRIETTA." 

"To  MRS.  MARTHA  A.  HAMILTON, 

"Covington,  Alleghany  County, 

"Virginia." 


IV 

THE  FIRST  CHURCH  WEDDING  IN  CHICAGO 
BY  MBS.  ARTHUR  B.  MEEKER 

DURING  the  month  of  September  in  the  year  1845,  I  ar- 
rived in  Chicago  on  board  the  old  steamship,  Constitution. 
We  landed  at  the  foot  of  State  Street.  It  is  difficult  to 
imagine  that  this  was  the  only  means  of  reaching  the  city 
from  the  East,  except  by  the  big  canvas-covered  wagons, 
known  as  "prairie-schooners."  It  is  also  a  bit  taxing  to 
imagine  our  Chicago  River  with  green,  sloping  banks  on 
either  side.  The  front  yards  of  some  of  our  best  homes  ran 
down  to  the  sedge-grown  water's  edge.  After  spending  one 
whole  week  on  the  lakes  coming  from  Buffalo  and  another 
week  before  that  in  the  packet  boats  on  the  Erie  Canal  from 
Syracuse,  not  to  mention  a  long  coaching  trip  through  the 
Berkshires,  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  having  very  nearly 
encircled  the  globe  that  we  arrived  at  the  American  Tem- 
perance House,  on  the  corner  of  Lake  Street  and  Wabash 
Avenue.  This  hostelry  was  one  of  the  few  inns  here  at  that 
time  and  harbored  temporarily  many  an  eastern  new-comer. 
After  a  survey  of  the  small  number  of  available  houses,  a 
desirable  one  was  found  near  the  northeast  corner  of  Lake 
Street  and  Michigan  Avenue.  The  grounds  of  this  house  ran 
down  to  the  lake;  the  waterworks  were  on  the  corner,  our 
house  was  next,  and  on  the  other  side  of  us  lived  the  then 
mayor,  R.  K.  Swift.  Other  residents  of  this  block  included 
Isaac  Cook,  James  Peck,  and  Frank  Sherman. 


42  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

The  lighthouse  which  stood  on  the  south  side  of  Rush 
Street  and  about  one  hundred  feet  west  of  it  was  cared  for 
by  James  Long.  One  of  my  great  delights  as  a  child  was  to 
climb  its  long,  circling  stairs  with  his  daughter  Clara  to 
see  the  great  light  turned  on. 

Eort  Dearborn,  as  many  old  Chicagoans  know,  did  not 
stand  where  the  tablet  which  faced  Rush  Street  bridge  for  so 
many  years  commemorated  its  site,  but  east  of  that,  on  the 
other  side  of  Michigan  Avenue,  its  grounds  running  to  the 
river  as  well  as  to  the  lake. *  In  1845  the  Fort  and  its  whole 
enclosure  were  deserted  and  served  principally  as  a  play- 
ground for  children. 

On  the  northwest  corner  of  Michigan  Avenue  and  Lake 
Street  was  a  very  large,  vacant  field  which  was  usually 
filled  with  camping  parties;  whole  communities  migrating 
from  the  East  to  the  West.  It  was  a  common  sight  to  see  a 
long  line  of  prairie-schooners  drive  into  this  field,  with  cows 
tied  behind  the  wagons.  There  they  would  unload  for  the 
night.  There  was  always  mystery  and  charm  about  their 
evening  camp-fires,  and  we  hovered  as  near  as  possible  on 
the  outskirts  of  these  fascinating  groups. 

The  greatest  excitement  was  the  arrival  of  the  weekly 
boat  from  Buffalo.  Sometimes  it  brought  people  who  had 
stopped  behind  until  their  more  adventurous  relatives  had 
tried  the  new  country.  These  boats  also  brought  many 
supplies  and  our  only  news  from  the  outside  world.  In  those 
days  the  great  West  Side  as  we  know  it  now,  did  not  exist; 
and  even  the  North  Side  seemed  like  a  separate  town  be- 
cause there  were  only  one  or  two  bridges  connecting  the 

1  The  tablet  was  placed  about  where  the  southwest  corner  of  the  stockade 
once  stood. — Editor. 


THE  FIRST  CHURCH  WEDDING  43 

two  sides  of  the  town.  Our  chief  means  of  communication 
with  the  other  side  of  the  river  was  the  old  Rush  Street 
ferry,  a  flatboat  affair,  carrying  about  twelve  passengers, 
which  was  drawn  back  and  forth  by  a  rope  worked  hand 
over  hand. 

Lake  Street  was  our  one  and  only  shopping  street  until 
Marshall  Field  built  his  shop  on  State  Street  shortly  before 
the  Fire.  Washington  Street  was  always  called  Church 
Street  in  those  days,  as  the  First  and  Second  Presbyter- 
ian, the  Methodist,  Baptist,  Unitarian  and  Universalist 
churches  were  all  on  this  street.  A  block  farther  south  was 
Trinity  Episcopal  Church. 

I  first  attended  Miss  Moore's  school,  which  was  on  Lake 
Street  near  Michigan  Avenue.  Miss  Moore  eventually 
married  Mrs.  Henry  King's  father,  Mr.  Case.  Later  I  was 
sent  to  Mrs.  Gaylord's  school  on  State  near  Madison  Street. 
The  year  before  I  was  sent  east  to  the  Utica  Female  Aca- 
demy, I  attended  the  Gleason  School  on  the  West  Side. 
This  could  only  be  reached  by  walking  over  the  Madison 
Street  bridge  and  about  four  blocks  west,  at  that  time  quite 
a  country  stroll.  Needless  to  say  we  always  brought  our 
lunch  with  us. 

The  town  crier  will  always  be  remembered  by  those  who 
lived  in  his  day.  He  was  a  colored  man,  and  when  he  stopped 
at  each  street -corner,  ringing  his  big  bell,  crowds  would 
gather  to  hear  whose  child  was  lost.  Very  often  it  was  my 
cousin,  William  B.  Walker.  This  would  happen  especially 
often  in  circus  time  when  there  was  little  doubt  as  to  where 
we  might  find  him. 

Up  to  1856  the  only  way  one  could  go  as  far  south  as 
Eighteenth  Street,  unless  one  owned  horses,  was  by  the 


44  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

old  stage  down  State  Street.  Arrived  at  the  southern  ter- 
minal the  horses  would  rest  many  hours  before  returning. 
This  trip  was  made  only  twice  a  day.  It  was  a  common 
sight  to  see  poles  stuck  in  the  mud  in  the  road  with  the 
sign,  "No  bottom  here,"  nailed  to  them. 

Until  my  marriage  in  1856,  the  few  social  .affairs  we  had 
were  extremely  simple.  I  can  remember  the  afternoon  sew- 
ing societies  at  the  churches.  After  our  work  was  done,  we 
were  joined  by  our  brothers  or  men  friends  and  had  an  old- 
fashioned  supper  together.  Then  there  were  early  evening 
parties  when  we  danced  a  little  and  sang,  always  ending 
with  a  supper.  This  consisted  usually  of  chicken  salad  and 
scalloped  oysters. 

In  the  winter  time  we  frequently  had  sleighing  parties 
which  made  their  way  over  the  snow-bound  earth  up  north 
to  the  old  Lake  view  House — which  seemed  miles  distant 
at  that  time  —  where  we  danced  and  a  hot  supper  was 
served. 

While  east  at  boarding-school,  I  met  my  future  husband. 
Our  marriage  took  place  September  24,  1856,  in  the  LaSalle 
Street  Baptist  Church.  This  building  was  afterward  taken 
down  brick  by  brick  and,  carefully  rebuilt,  now  stands  on 
the  West  Side.  The  hour  for  the  marriage  service  was  set 
at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Being  the  first  church  wed- 
ding in  Chicago  I  remember  that  it  excited  a  good  deal  of 
interest  and  curiosity.  The  church  was,  in  consequence, 
crowded  with  people. 

Preceding  me  up  the  aisle,  when  the  wedding  proces- 
sion entered,  were  my  two  bridesmaids,  Miss  Alice  Meek- 
er and  Miss  Clara  Thomas,  on  the  arms  of  our  two  ushers, 
George  C.  Walker  and  Frank  Van  Wyck.  Miss  Meeker  was 


THE  FIRST  CHURCH  WEDDING  45 

dressed  in  blue  silk,  while  Miss  Thomas  was  in  yellow. 
Following  them  I  came  on  my  future  husband's  arm.  I 
was  dressed  in  white  silk,  with  a  white  tulle  veil.  As  we 
approached  the  altar  our  bridesmaids  went  to  the  left, 
while  our  ushers  turned  to  the  right.  Behind  us  in  a  semi- 
circle stood  my  entire  family.  My  great  concern  all  day 
had  been  the  non-appearance  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Howard, 
who  was  to  marry  us.  An  accident  on  the  railroad  had  so 
delayed  his  train,  that  he  only  reached  the  Church  just  as 
we  were  starting  down  the  aisle.  My  joy  was  complete  when 
I  discovered  him  waiting  for  us;  I  was  very  fond  of  him. 

A  supper  was  served  afterwards  at  our  home,  only  inti- 
mate friends,  besides  the  family,  being  present.  My  uncle, 
Cyrus  Bentley,  objected  so  strongly  to  my  going  away  the 
first  night  after  I  was  married  that  I  was  obliged  to  stay 
at  home,  much  to  my  annoyance.  The  next  day  my  hus- 
band and  I  started  for  Clinton,  Iowa.  This  was  as  far  west 
as  the  railroads  were  built  at  that  time,  and  as  we  were 
going  east  to  make  our  home  we  felt  that  it  was  our  last 
chance  to  see  the  West  for  a  long  time.  We  took  our  brides- 
maid from  the  East,  Miss  Meeker,  with  us,  and  also  one 
of  our  ushers. 

After  spending  six  months  in  the  East,  my  husband  and 
I  returned  to  Chicago  and  for  some  time  lived  on  Ontario 
Street.  At  this  time  everyone  was  devoted  to  dancing  and  it 
was  one  of  my  greatest  pleasures ;  but  I  was  soon  to  be  de- 
prived of  it  as  it  created  such  a  disturbance  in  the  Baptist 
Church,  to  which  we  belonged,  that  I  was  brought  up  be- 
fore the  Board  of  Deacons  and  told  that  I  must  decide  be- 
tween the  Church  and  dancing. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  sixties  the  Civil  War  stands 


46  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

out  most  prominently  in  my  memory.  Everything  was  at 
fever  heat  during  those  early  years  of  the  war.  Colonel 
Ellsworth  and  his  Zouaves  will  always  be  remembered  by 
Chicagoans  of  that  time,  nor  can  anyone  who  was  then 
alive  forget  Jules  Lombard  when  he  mounted  the  Court 
House  steps  and  sang  The  Battle  Cry  of  Freedom,  before  the 
ink  was  dry  on  the  manuscript.  This  famous  song  was  writ- 
ten by  George  Root,  of  Chicago.  Crowds  gathered  in  the 
street  before  the  Court  House  and  soon  all  were  singing  it. 

The  beautiful  Crosby  Opera  House,  with  its  openwork 
horseshoe  of  boxes,  was  a  great  addition  to  our  social  life; 
and  Kinsley's  restaurant,  next  door,  was  one  of  the  best- 
known  and  most  popular  places  of  its  kind  in  the  city.  Bryan 
Hall,  where  the  Grand  Opera  House  stood  later,  was  our 
one  hall  for  public  entertainments.  Here  were  held  our 
Sanitary  Fairs. 

In  closing  this  brief  memoir,  I  will  enumerate  a  few  of 
the  families  living  in  Chicago  when  I  first  arrived:  Judge 
Mark  Skinner,  George  Snow,  Charles  Follansbee,  the  Had- 
ducks,  the  McCaggs,  William  B.  Ogden,  Mahlon  D.  Ogden, 
John  H.  Kinzie,  J.  A.  Smith,  the  Pecks,  the  Haynes,  Silas 
Cobb,  the  Buchers,  L.  C.  P.  Freer,  I.  H.  Burch,  Dr.  Levi 
Boone  (our  most  prominent  doctor  besides  being  mayor  of 
the  city),  and  my  uncle,  Cyrus  Bentley. 

Much  of  this  memoir  has  been  written  on  a  journey  from 
Chicago  to  Santa  Barbara.  Crossing  the  Arizona  desert  we 
have  passed  many  prairie-schooners,  filled,  I  fancy,  with 
families  who  have  left  their  homes  farther  east  to  better 
themselves  in  the  Great  West,  just  as  did  those  other  fam- 
ilies in  the  early  daysVho  journeyed  westward  to  Chicago. 


V 
GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR 

BY  JOSEPH  TURNER  RYERSON 

[Even  as  long  ago  as  1882  the  dramatic  quality  of  Chicago's 
swift  rise  from  primitive  conditions  to  a  position  of  world 
importance  was  keenly  realized  by  her  citizens.  It  was  this 
realization  by  the  late  Joseph  T.  Ryerson  that  prompted  him 
to  write  for  his  family  his  impressions  of  Chicago  and  a 
few  of  her  prominent  citizens  as  he  first  met  and  knew  both 
when  he  arrived  here  in  1842.  Not  the  least  interesting  part 
of  his  narrative  is  his  description  of  the  methods  of  travel  in 
those  days.  From  this  valuable  memoir  Mr.  Ryerson's  son, 
Mr.  Edward  Larned  Ryerson,  has  allowed  me  to  cull  the 
following  chapter. — Editor.  ] 

ABOUT  the  first  of  October,  1842,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
nine  years,  after  a  varied  and  not  entirely  fortunate  busi- 
ness experience  in  Philadelphia,  I  thought  it  was  time  for  me 
to  seek  some  new  field  for  my  efforts,  and  determined  to 
follow  Horace  Greeley's  advice,  "  Go  west,  young  man,  go 
west."  On  a  few  hours'  notice,  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  then 
Far  West  to  seek  my  fortune.  I  left  my  old  home  in  Philadel- 
phia, a  sad-feeling  and  sober-minded  young  man,  not  hav- 
ing any  certain  destination,  Pittsburgh  being  my  first  stop- 
ping point.  I  travelled  by  rail  from  Philadelphia  to  Colum- 
bia, Pennsylvania,  and  thence  by  four-horse  mail-coach  to 
Pittsburgh  over  the  Allegheny  Mountains.  The  Pennsyl- 


48  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

vania  Canal  from  Philadelphia  to  Pittsburgh  was  then  in 
operation  (it  was  abandoned  some  years  ago  in  the 
interests  of  the  railways)  and  there  were  through  passen- 
ger boats.  As  they  were  slow,  I  preferred  the  mail-stage, 
although  a  long  and  wearisome  ride  of  nearly  two  days 
packed  in  with  nine  passengers  was  my  portion. 

I  remained  in  Pittsburgh  a  few  days  and  then  took  the 
stage  again  for  Cleveland  —  an  eight een-hours'  ride.  Thence 
I  took  a  side-wheel  lake  steamer  —  there  were  no  propel- 
lers on  the  lakes  then  —  to  Toledo.  So  favorably  was  I  im- 
pressed with  Toledo's  geographical  location  and  its  coming 
advantages  from  the  opening  of  the  Wabash  and  Erie 
canals,  that  I  meditated  a  settlement  in  Toledo,  provided 
I  could  make  satisfactory  business  arrangements.  On  my 
return  to  Pittsburgh,  however,  my  destination  was  sud- 
denly changed  by  the  proposition  of  an  iron  manufacturing 
house  there  to  send  me  to  Chicago  as  their  agent  with  a 
heavy  stock  of  Pittsburgh  manufactures.  I  soon  started 
for  Chicago,  a  place  I  had  scarcely  any  knowledge  of  ex- 
cept as  a  broken-down,  speculative  town  on  the  western 
shore  of  Lake  Michigan  and  on  the  edge  of  the  great  prairie 
nearly  surrounding  it.  Retracing  my  steps  to  Cleveland,  I 
took  a  boat  around  the  lakes  to  Chicago,  where  I  arrived 
November  1,  1842.  I  put  up  at  the  old  Tremont  House,  a 
wooden  building  on  the  southeast  corner  of  Lake  and  Dear- 
born streets,  where  I  boarded  for  four  years,  day  board,  at 
$2.00  per  week,  for  which  I  received,  as  they  say,  "three 
square  meals"  a  day  of  the  fat  of  the  land,  which  was  in 
abundance,  good  and  cheap.  The  hotel  was  kept  by  Ira 
and  James  Couch.  My  sleeping  quarters  were  over  my 
store. 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR     49 

Chicago,  at  that  period,  was  broken  down  through  wild 
land  speculation,  the  stopping  of  work  on  the  Illinois-and- 
Michigan  Canal,  and  the  panic  of  1837.  Many  of  the  in- 
habitants had  left  and  the  town  contained  only  6,500  people. 
Navigation  being  near  its  close,  the  streets  were  compara- 
tively free  from  the  activity  usually  prevalent  during  the 
autumn  months,  but  I  could  discover  from  the  teams  loaded 
with  farm  products,  entering  the  city  from  all  directions,  that 
there  was  a  good  prospect  for  a  respectable-sized  city  in 
time,  and  a  fair  chance  for  a  young  man  to  settle  down  to 
hard  work  and  grow  up  with  the  town  and  its  people. 

The  winter  of  1842  set  in  early.  We  had,  on  November 
19th,  a  heavy  snow-storm,  and  there  was  good  sleighing  all 
over  the  country  until  the  following  March.  Chicago  mer- 
chants used  to  make  journeys  on  runners  as  far  as  Galena 
for  trading,  returning  with  loads  of  lead,  shot,  and  other 
merchandise.  The  business  of  the  country  with  Chicago 
far  and  near  was  done  largely  on  sleds.  It  was  a  very  severe, 
cold  winter. 

I  started  on  March  25,  1843,  for  Philadelphia  on  a  stage- 
coach, arriving  about  evening  at  Michigan  City,  fifty  to 
fifty -five  miles  from  Chicago.  Finding  a  heavy  bed  of  snow 
on  the  ground,  we  changed  to  a  stage-coach  on  runners, 
wrapped  ourselves  in  our  buffalo  robes,  our  feet  being  in- 
cased in  buffalo  shoes,  and  composed  ourselves  for  a  "long 
winter's  nap."  We  changed  from  coach  sled  to  wagon-box 
sled  and  open  sleigh  at  times,  and  finally  reached  the  then 
small  town  of  Toledo,  Ohio.  We  rested  part  of  a  day  at 
Toledo,  took  a  regular  stage-coach  and  jogged  along  to- 
wards Cleveland.  We  arrived  at  Cleveland  towards  even- 
ing. I  put  up  over  night  at  the  best  hotel  there,  the  Amer- 


50  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

ican,  and  started  the  next  morning  by  stage  for  Pittsburgh, 
making  the  journey  by  stage  from  Chicago  to  Pittsburgh  in 
seven  days  and  nights.  After  a  day's  delay  at  Pittsburgh,  I 
took  stage  again  over  the  mountains,  most  of  the  time  being 
the  only  passenger.  The  road  was  cut  through  snow,  in  some 
places  five  to  seven  feet  deep.  I  arrived  in  Philadelphia  in 
ten  days'  travelling  from  Chicago. 

Our  usual  route  at  that  time  between  Chicago  and  the 
East,  during  the  season  of  lake  navigation,  was  by  steam- 
boat around  the  lakes  to  Buffalo,  by  rail  to  Albany,  and 
by  steamer  to  New  York,  —  occupying  six  to  eight  days, 
according  to  weather  on  the  lakes  and  the  necessary  calls 
of  the  boats  at  ports  along  the  way.  The  lake  passages  in 
the  summer  seasons  were  very  pleasant.  The  boats  were 
large  side-wheel  steamers,  with  cabins  and  state-rooms  all 
on  deck.  The  saloon,  stretching  from  bow  to  stern  of  the 
boat,  with  state-rooms  extending  the  whole  length  on 
either  side,  was  handsomely  decorated,  carpeted  and  fur- 
nished. There  was  generally  a  full  load  of  passengers  and 
in  the  evenings  the  saloon  was  handsomely  lighted  and 
cleared  and,  there  being  usually  a  band  of  music  on  board, 
the  passengers  amused  themselves  by  dancing,  singing,  card- 
playing,  and  promenading  outside  of  the  saloon  or  inside 
until  the  time  came  to  retire  to  their  state-rooms. 

I  used  to  travel  back  and  forth  to  Philadelphia  and  New 
York  twice  a  year,  sometimes  via  Buffalo  and  Albany,  but 
generally  by  boat  to  Cleveland,  thence  to  Pittsburgh  and 
on  to  Philadelphia.  On  one  occasion,  however,  I  went  from 
Chicago  to  Ottawa  by  stage;  and  thence  on  the  Illinois  and 
Mississippi  rivers  by  boat  to  St.  Louis,  and  again  by  boat 
on  the  Mississippi  and  Ohio  rivers  to  Pittsburgh;  thence  by 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR    51 

stage  over  the  mountains  to  Philadelphia,  —  a  very  long 
and  wearisome  journey.  This  was  in  1844,  the  season  of 
high  water  on  the  western  rivers,  when  the  bottom  lands 
for  400  miles  were  swept  by  floods  and  the  country  generally 
soaked  from  the  long  continued  rains.  As  our  boats  passed 
down  the  Illinois  River,  we  made  landings  at  the  second 
story  of  some  of  the  warehouses  on  its  banks,  and,  on 
arrival  at  St.  Louis,  found  the  river  had  been  up  to  the 
second  floors  of  the  stores  and  warehouses  on  the  levee  and 
was  then  washing  over  the  pavements  in  front  of  the  stores. 

As  we  passed  down  from  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois  River 
and  along  the  Mississippi  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
the  sun  shining  brightly,  we  came  to  the  wide-spreading 
mouth  of  the  Missouri,  —  a  grand  sight !  That  noble  river 
came  coursing  down  with  its  overloaded  volume  of  water 
in  a  wild  and  rushing  torrent,  struck  the  Mississippi  and 
annihilated  it  in  a  moment  with  a  turbid  body  of  water. 
Some  of  our  Missouri  passengers  appeared  overjoyed  at  the 
sight  of  the  muddy  stream  and  cried  out  for  a  drink.  A 
bucketful  was  soon  drawn  up  and  they  indulged  freely  in 
the  thick  and  yellow  water,  as  if  it  were  the  most  delicious 
drink  in  the  world. 

When  I  came  to  Chicago  the  sand-bar  at  the  mouth  of 
the  river  had  nearly  disappeared  and  the  shore  of  the  lake 
south  of  the  harbor  was  about  175  feet  from  the  east  line 
of  Michigan  Avenue.  For  some  distance  south  the  land 
had  been  washed  away  by  the  lake.  At  the  point  on  the 
lake  where  old  Deacon  John  Wright  at  one  time  had  a 
large  garden  with  fruit  and  other  trees,  east  of  Michigan 
Avenue  opposite  the  southwest  corner  of  the  Avenue  and 
Madison  Street,  the  land  had  nearly  all  been  carried  away 


52  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

by  the  action  of  the  waves,  and  a  few  years  later  this  gar- 
den had  entirely  disappeared.  I  recollect  on  one  occasion  a 
severe  storm  on  the  lake  which  washed  away  one-third  of 
the  width  of  Michigan  Avenue.  The  City  and  owners  of 
lots  fronting  on  the  Avenue  were  compelled  to  protect  the 
land  from  further  encroachments. 

The  settlement  or  town  of  Chicago  first  began  on  the 
North  Side,  near  the  foot  of  Rush  and  Cass  streets  on  the 
river.  In  this  locality  speculation  in  land  ran  high.  The 
house  of  the  American  Land  Company,  afterwards  pur- 
chased and  occupied  by  William  B.  Ogden  as  a  residence, 
stood  alone  on  the  block  bounded  by  Erie,  Rush,  Ontario 
and  Cass  streets.  I  was  told  on  reliable  authority  that  the 
block  south  of  it  was  sold  for  $40,000  at  that  early  day  and 
some  years  later  was  bought  by  E.  J.  Tinkham  for  $5,000. 
About  the  same  time  the  block  west,  known  as  the  Magee 
block,  was  purchased  by  Magee  for  $5,000.  I  paid,  soon 
after  I  came  to  Chicago,  $100  per  front  foot  on  Cass  Street  for 
property  150  feet  deep.  The  block  north  brought  double 
this  amount  after  the  Fire.  These  facts  show  the  ups  and 
downs  that  have  occurred  in  north-side  real  estate  within 
the  forty  years  from  1842  to  1880. 

Speculation  ran  high  on  the  North  Side,  because  it  was 
considered  more  eligible  for  business  and  residence,  the 
South  and  West  sides  then  being  low,  wet  prairie-lands, 
and  no  one  dreaming  that  the  city  level  would  or  could  be 
raised  by  three  successive  ordinances  about  ten  feet  above 
its  original  level.  Whole  blocks  of  stores  and  massive  build- 
ings were  screwed  up  to  grade.  In  one  instance  the  half 
block  extending  from  Clark  to  La  Salle  Street  on  the  north 
side  of  Lake  Street,  by  one  movement  of  6,000  screws,  was 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR     53 

lifted  above  six  feet,  —  a  feat  of  mechanical  operation  the 
country  had  never  heard  of  before.  The  business  of  the 
block  went  on  as  usual  during  the  operation;  not  a  pane  of 
glass  was  broken,  nor  were  people  aware  of  the  movement, 
so  gradual  was  the  process.  About  all  the  heavy  and  per- 
manent buildings  of  the  South  Side,  including  the  large, 
five-story  brick  Tremont  House,  were  screwed  up  in  this 
way,  business  going  on  without  interruption.  In  places 
the  sidewalks  were  four  to  six  feet  above  the  roadway  with 
steps  at  the  corners.  At  every  street-corner  in  the  business 
portion  of  the  South  Side  pedestrians  went  up  and  down 
stairs.  Until  the  grade  of  the  city  was  raised,  there  was  no 
possibility  on  the  South  Side  of  having  any  cellars  or  base- 
ments under  buildings.  If  a  hole  was  dug  in  the  ground  a 
couple  of  feet,  it  would  fill  with  water  seeping  through  the 
wet  soil.  If  a  descent  of  a  few  feet  was  made,  water  from 
the  river  would  come  through. 

Drainage  at  that  early  day  was  a  difficult  problem.  The 
streets  were  the  natural  soil,  and  in  continued  rains  or  in 
the  spring  season  when  frost  was  coming  out  of  the  ground, 
they  were,  in  places,  seas  of  mud  of  unknown  depth.  One 
would  frequently  see  an  abandoned  wagon  in  the  mire  and 
a  sign  board  set  up,  "No  bottom  here."  I  had  personal  ex- 
perience of  this  once  on  South  Clark  Street,  opposite  the 
Court  House  block,  when  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  going  to 
church,  my  hat  being  carried  by  the  wind  into  the  middle 
of  the  street,  I  sank  knee-deep  in  the  mud  in  regaining  it. 
Once  in  a  while  you  would  see  ladies  and  children  seated  on 
buffalo  robes  going  to  church  in  a  cart  to  avoid  the  mud. 
Arriving  at  its  destination  the  cart  would  back  up  to  the 
church  door  and  unload. 


54  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

The  city  fathers  about  this  time  were  struck  with  a  bright 
idea  in  the  way  of  sewerage  engineering.  The  surface  of  the 
ground  was  so  level  that  the  water  would  not  run  in  any 
one  direction,  and  to  accomplish  surface  drainage  it  was 
ordered  that  ditches  should  be  dug  on  the  sides  of  the  streets 
running  towards  the  south  banks  of  the  river.  However, 
when  one  of  the  periodical  rises  in  the  water  of  the  lake 
came,  the  water  ran  back  into  the  city  instead  of  out  of  it. 

Another  experiment,  for  fire  prevention  purposes,  was 
the  laying  of  wooden  conduits  from  the  river  up  into  the 
business  portion  of  the  city  below  water-level,  with  wells 
at  the  corners,  out  of  which  water  was  pumped  by  hand- 
engines;  but  these  wells  got  stopped  up  and  were  a  failure. 

When  I  came  to  the  city,  the  Chicago  River  was  a  small 
stream,  whose  clear  water  was  used  by  those  living  on  its 
banks  for  house  and  culinary  purposes.  It  ran  within  its 
natural  banks,  which  in  many  places  were  covered  with 
grass.  On  the  main  river  were  a  few  docks  for  warehouse 
and  shipping  purposes,  but  the  branches  were  almost  en- 
tirely free  of  improvements.  There  was  an  old  wooden 
bridge  across  the  river  at  Clark  Street.  The  bed  of  the 
bridge  rested  on  a  scow  float  which  was  swung  about  by  a 
rope  wound  on  a  windlass  to  accommodate  passing  vessels. 
A  similar  bridge  crossed  the  South  Branch  at  Lake  Street. 
Later  on,  a  rope  ferry  with  a  scow  was  installed  at  State 
Street,  and  a  short  time  subsequently  another  rope  ferry 
was  placed  at  Rush  Street.  In  winter  the  main  river  and 
its  branches  were  used  for  sleighing:  I  once  followed  the 
South  Branch  on  the  ice  in  a  sleigh  until  nearly  lost  far  out 
in  the  prairie.  The  main  river  from  Rush  Street  to  the  forks 
of  the  stream  was  used  on  winter  afternoons  as  a  race- 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR    55 

course,  where  with  sleigh  and  bells  the  speed  of  the  native 
nags  was  tried  out. 

North  Water  Street  used  to  run  along  the  river  from  the 
North  Branch  east  to  about  the  foot  of  Cass  Street,  where 
it  intercepted  Kinzie  Street,  now  occupied  by  railroad 
tracks.  The  great  hotel  of  the  early  days  of  land  specula- 
tion was  the  Lake  House,  quite  a  large,  four-story  brick 
building,  destroyed  by  the  great  fire.  It  stood  on  the  north- 
east corner  of  North  Water  and  Rush  streets.  On  the  river, 
across  from  the  Lake  House,  stood  the  wheat  storage  and 
forwarding  warehouse  of  Newberry  &  Dole.  (Oliver  New- 
berry  of  Detroit  and  George  W.  Dole.)  I  think  Julian  S. 
Rumsey  was  a  clerk  with  this  firm  at  the  time  I  brought 
letters  of  introduction  to  it. 

In  1842,  the  south  pier  forming  one  side  of  the  harbor 
extended  out  into  the  lake  about  a  thousand  feet  from  the 
present  Rush  Street  bridge.  The  lighthouse  stood  on  the 
bank  of  the  river  just  west  of  the  present  south  abutment 
of  Rush  Street  bridge;  the  lighthouse  tower  and  the  keeper's 
house  were  built  of  stone.  The  south  pier  used  to  be  a  fav- 
orite walk  on  summer  evenings  and  on  Sundays,  and  also 
a  swimming  place  at  times.  We  used  to  go  down  on  the  lake 
shore  opposite  Dearborn  Park, l  on  the  warm  summer  even- 
ings after  the  stores  were  closed,  about  ten  o'clock,  for  a 
swim  before  going  to  bed. 

Old  Fort  Dearborn,  then  abandoned,  was  at  the  east  end 
of  River  Street,  surrounded  by  a  high  picket-fence.  The 
whole  fort  was  built  of  logs,  —  officers'  quarters,  block- 
house, magazine,  and  other  buildings.  Michigan  Avenue 
abutted  on  the  Fort  grounds  and  was  not  extended  north 

1  Where  the  Public  Library  now  stands. 


56  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

to  the  harbor  for  some  years.  When  Major  Charles  H. 
Lamed,  —  my  brother-in-law  through  my  marriage  to 
his  sister,  —  was  ordered  to  Chicago  on  recruiting  service 
after  the  Mexican  War,  he  made  his  headquarters  in  the 
officers'  barracks  at  the  old  Fort,  and  during  the  winter 
assembled  a  large  company  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  the 
old  military  apartments.  This  was  one  of  the  social  affairs  of 
the  season.  It  was  at  this  party  that  the  "  German,"  the 
now  popular  dance,  was  first  attempted  in  a  simple  way 
under  the  leadership  of  Captain  von  Schneidau  and  his 
wife,  late  of  Stockholm,  Sweden.  He  was  once  attached  to 
the  court  there,  and  had  come  to  this  country  to  seek  his 
fortune. 

On  the  northeast  corner  of  Clark  and  Randolph  streets 
stood,  in  1842,  the  City  Hotel,  a  three-story  brick  building, 
kept  by  Jacob  Russell.  This  was  the  crack  hotel  of  the  town 
and  was  supposed  to  be  just  a  little  "extra"  in  the  way  of  a 
hotel,  where  the  higher-toned  travellers  put  up.  An  old  one- 
story  brick  court  house,  about  thirty  by  eighty  feet,  stood  on 
one  corner  of  the  public  square  on  the  southwest  corner  of 
Clark  and  Randolph  streets,  in  the  basement  of  which,  in  the 
west  end,  was  the  Recorder's  office,  while  in  other  portions 
of  the  basement  were  the  clerks'  and  other  offices.  It  was 
sometimes  used  for  concerts  and  exhibitions.  I  once  saw 
Tom  Thumb  there  in  after  years.  It  was  lighted  by  candles 
or  oil  lamps,  and  was  a  pretty  rough-looking  place,  includ- 
ing the  bench  for  His  Honor,  the  Judge.  It  was  in  this 
courthouse  that  Judge  Buckner  S.  Morris,  Judge  Mark 
Skinner,  Judge  Hugh  T.  Dickey  and  others  held  forth, 
and  all  the  legal  profession  practiced  law. 

Of  the  large  wooden  warehouses,  built  for  the  storage  of 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR     57 

grain  and  the  receiving  and  forwarding  of  merchandise, 
there  were,  on  the  South  Side,  the  Reed  warehouse,  occu- 
pied by  Bristol  &  Porter;  on  the  dock  at  the  foot  of 
State  Street,  Charles  Walker's  warehouse;  on  the  block 
west  of  State  Street,  James  Peck  &  Company's  warehouse; 
on  the  dock  at  the  foot  of  Dearborn  Street  and  west  of  there 
between  Dearborn  and  Clark  streets,  Humphreys  &  Win- 
slow's  and  D.  D.  Stanton's  warehouses;  and  west  of  Clark 
Street  bridge  one  more,  which  was  occupied  by  Russell  & 
Company.  The  elevator  power  in  all  these  warehouses  was 
supplied  by  a  horse,  sometimes  on  the  first  floor,  though  in 
some  warehouses  the  horse  was  elevated  for  life  and  put  to 
work  in  the  loft.  Of  course,  these  grain  elevators  were  small 
affairs  compared  with  those  of  the  present  day.  The  wheat 
was  unloaded  from  bags  out  of  a  farmer's  wagon  at  a  small 
hopper  on  the  front  of  the  building. 

The  first  large  steam  elevator  that  was  ever  built  in  Chi- 
cago for  handling  grain  from  railroad  tracks  was  on  the 
North  Side,  on  the  river  west  of  Wells  Street.  It  was  built  by 
George  A.  Gibbs  and  E.  W.  Griffin  of  Gibbs,  Griffin  &  Com- 
pany. Gibbs  told  me  that  people  thought  he  was  crazy  to 
undertake  such  a  thing  and  that  it  would  not  pay.  A  year 
or  two  later  George  Steel,  a  Scotchman,  built  another  eleva- 
tor just  west  of  Gibbs,  Griffin  &  Company.  He  sold  out  to 
Wesley  Munger  and  George  Armour.  Munger  had  owned  a 
small  mill  at  Waukegan,  which  had  burned  down,  and 
George  Armour  had  been  a  contractor  on  the  canal.  Both 
were  at  this  time  men  of  moderate  means,  but  their  early 
development  of  the  grain-elevator  business  made  for  them 
both  great  fortunes. 

The  other  business  buildings  of  Chicago  were  devoted 


58  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

mainly  to  the  selling  of  goods  and  to  trade  in  one  form  or 
another.  They  were  generally  built  of  wood  in  the  "balloon" 
style  on  account  of  cheapness  and  the  speed  with  which 
they  could  be  erected.  They  were  one  and  two  stories  high, 
occupying  lots  of  twenty  feet  front  mostly  on  South  Water 
and  Lake  streets.  The  dwelling-houses  on  the  South  Side 
were  near  at  hand  on  the  north-and-south  streets.  These 
were  small  frame  houses,  a  story  or  a  story  and  one-half 
to  two  stories  high,  often  covering  a  good  deal  of  ground, 
convenient,  snug  and  neat  inside,  and  easily  kept  in  good 
order  and  attended  to.  Servants  were  either  not  obtainable 
or,  for  the  sake  of  economy,  were  dispensed  with.  Nothing 
but  stoves  were  used  for  heating,  and  wood  was  the  only 
fuel.  This  cost  about  two  dollars  per  cord,  and  a  Norwegian 
man  would  saw  it  twice,  split  it  and  carry  it  into  the  shed, 
for  three  to  four  shillings  a  cord  —  or  thirty -two  and  one- 
half  to  fifty  cents. 

About  1849  I  bought  of  John  P.  Chapin,  of  Chicago,  the 
northwest  corner  of  Wabash  Avenue  and  Madison  Street 
for  $2,050  cash.  About  the  same  time  I  bought  of  Edward 
J.  Tinkham  sixty -five  feet  on  Ontario  Street,  one  hundred 
feet  west  of  Cass  Street,  two  hundred  and  eighteen  feet  deep 
to  Erie  Street,  for  $1,600,  intending  both  these  lots  for  resi- 
dence property,  one  for  myself  and  one  for  my  brother-in- 
law,  Dr.  Rutter,  and  his  family.  The  Doctor  chose  the 
Wabash  Avenue  lot  as  the  better  location  for  his  profession, 
and  I  conveyed  the  corner  lot,  twenty -five  by  one  hundred 
and  fifty  feet,  to  his  wife;  of  the  Ontario  Street  lot  I  con- 
veyed twenty-five  by  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  to  my 
maiden  sister,  Mariette  Ryerson,  and  twenty-five  by  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet,  to  my  other  maiden  sister,  Ann  Gather- 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR     59 

ine  Ryerson.  On  the  last  described  lot  I  built  for  my  sister, 
Ann  Catherine,  the  owner,  the  first  three-story  brick  dwell- 
ing ever  built  in  Chicago,  at  a  cost  of  $5,000;  and  it  was 
also  the  first  house  in  the  city  with  a  double  front-door  and 
vestibule.  It  was  twenty-five  feet  front  and  about  fifty  feet 
deep,  with  stairs  in  the  rear,  dining-room  and  kitchen  be- 
yond on  the  same  floor,  and  a  good  cellar  under  all.  It  was 
a  Philadelphia  style  of  house,  the  plans  having  been  drawn 
in  Philadelphia.  This  house  was  the  best  dwelling  erected 
up  to  that  time  (about  1850)  in  the  city,  and  was  the  object 
of  much  curiosity  and  comment  because  of  its  size,  general 
appearance,  and  the  spaciousness  of  its  interior. 

There  were  no  public  buildings  in  Chicago  in  1842  except 
the  small  one-story  Court  House  on  the  northeast  corner 
of  the  public  square,  and  the  old  log  jail  surrounded  by  a 
high  board  fence  on  the  northwest  corner  of  the  same  square. 
There  were  no  public  halls  or  meeting  rooms  for  amuse- 
ment or  other  purposes,  except  the  hall  on  the  third  floor  of 
the  saloon  building  on  the  southeast  corner  of  Clark  and 
Lake  streets.  There  was  a  small  wooden  theater  on  the 
west  side  of  Dearborn  Street  between  South  Water  and 
Lake  streets,  where,  about  1843,  I  saw  the  play  of  The 
Stranger,  by  some  native  artists.  It  was  a  pretty  rough  and 
dilapidated  place.  In  a  corner  of  the  building  was  a  small 
saloon  kept  by  Ike  Cook,  at  that  time  a  well-known  char- 
acter in  Chicago.  He  was  a  good-natured  and  well-behaved 
man,  who  in  the  political  days  of  Senator  Douglas  was  a 
strong  adherent  of  "Little  Doug.,"  as  he  was  called.  It  was 
Ike  Cook  who  remarked  on  a  certain  occasion  at  a  Douglas 
meeting:  "Gentleman,  I  tell  you,  truth  squashed  to  earth 
will  rise  again."  On  the  same  occasion  Frank  Sherman, 


60  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

once  His  Honor,  Mayor  Sherman,  said,  "I  only  hope  in 
these  remarks  to  facilitate  business!"  Sherman  owned  the 
Sherman  House  and  from  him  the  hotel  took  its  name. 

In  the  way  of  concerts,  I  recollect  one  got  up  by  the 
Unitarian  Church  in  the  winter  of  1842-43  and  held  in  the 
east  hall  of  the  saloon  building.  The  overture  (to  something) 
was  by  the  following  performers:  Charles  Burley,  who 
played  in  the  Unitarian  choir,  violincello;  Edward  J.  Tink- 
ham  and  C.  B.  Nelson,  flutes;  a  man  by  the  name  of  Col- 
lamer,  violin;  and  at  the  piano,  I  think,  was  Mrs.  Dr. 
Stewart,  while  her  sister,  Mrs.  Harrington,  the  wife  of  the 
minister  of  the  Unitarian  Church,  was  the  vocalist  of  the 
occasion. 

There  was  no  regular  music  in  town  for  dancing.  At 
parties,  after  the  refreshments  had  been  served,  sometimes 
John  H.  Kinzie  would  play  dance  music  on  his  violin  for 
the  young  people;  and  now  and  then  a  Mr.  Nicholson,  liv- 
ing on  the  southeast  corner  of  Rush  and  Ontario  streets, 
would  do  the  same  thing.  On  rare  occasions  Mr.  Kinzie 
would  go  through  the  Indian  "pipe-dance"  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  company.  The  dances  were  all  the  old-fashioned 
square-dances. 

Society  at  that  early  date  was  very  simple.  It  had  to  be, 
everybody  being  poor.  The  style  of  dress  was  plain  and  in- 
expensive; silks  and  satins  were  the  exception  among  the 
ladies,  and  I  doubt  whether  a  lady's  dress  for  a  party  cost 
more  than  from  five  to  ten  dollars,  for  it  was  mostly  what 
they  called  "white  tarlatan"  adorned  with  some  bright- 
colored  ribbons.  Everybody  had  just  as  good  a  time,  how- 
ever, and  enjoyed  the  entertainments  as  much,  as  if  velvets, 
satins  and  silks,  diamonds  and  other  jewels  had  abounded 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR     61 

The  parties  usually  began  about  half-past  seven  or  eight 
o'clock,  and  "the  ball  broke"  generally  about  eleven  or 
twelve  o'clock;  when  there  was  no  dancing  it  ended  at  ten 
or  eleven  o'clock. 

In  later  years  we  indulged  at  times  in  sleighing  parties. 
We  would  send  word  to  a  country  tavern,  some  ten  or 
twelve  miles  from  the  city,  hire  a  number  of  double  sleighs 
and  take  a  violinist  along.  Then  when  we  arrived  we  would 
have  a  dance  followed  by  a  good  supper,  and  after  supper 
more  dancing:  it  was  often  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  be- 
fore we  reached  home.  These  very  pleasant  occasions  were 
always  chaperoned  by  some  married  couples. 

The  only  literary  association  in  the  city  was  the  "Young 
Men's  Association  and  Library."  It  had  a  small  room  in  the 
third  story  of  the  saloon  building  where  its  meetings  were 
held  and  its  few  books  were  kept.  This  was  Chicago's  first 
attempt  at  a  library.  An  occasional  lecture  was  arrang- 
ed by  the  members  of  this  association.  In  later  years  it 
was  reorganized  under  the  direction  of  E.  B.  McCagg,  Ed- 
win C.  Larned,  F.  B.  Cooley,  myself  and  others,  when  a  new 
course  of  lectures  was  inaugurated.  These  were  delivered  in 
the  State  Street  Hall,  a  new  assembly  room,  the  first  lec- 
ture being  given  by  George  William  Curtis,  of  New  York, 
on  "Alcibiades,"  a  character  which  Mr.  Curtis  treated  in 
his  finished  and  elegant  style  of  oratory.  After  Mr.  Curtis, 
came  Bishop  Alonzo  Potter  of  Pennsylvania,  on  "The 
Character  of  George  Washington,"  a  good,  moral,  fatherly 
kind  of  address,  which  he  closed  with  the  remark,  which 
we  often  repeated  afterwards,  "If  you  want  to  be  as  Wash- 
ington was,  you  must  do  as  Washington  did." 

Some  years  later  the   Chicago  Historical   Society  was 


62  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

founded  with  the  idea  of  forming  an  historical  library  of 
general  character.  To  house  it,  a  good  building  was  erected 
on  the  northwest  corner  of  Dearborn  Avenue  and  Ontario 
Street,  which  included  a  comfortable  little  hall  for  lectures, 
capable  of  holding  three  or  four  hundred  people,  while  below 
were  necessary  rooms  and  a  spacious  library  on  the  second  floor. 

In  1842  and  '43  the  Catholics  had  a  small  one-story  frame 
church  on  the  southwest  corner  of  Wabash  Avenue  and 
Madison  Street,  which  was  later  moved  to  the  rear  of  the 
lot  and  turned  into  a  school-house  to  make  room  for  the 
brick  church  of  St.  Mary,  which  was  burned  in  the  great 
fire.  On  the  southeast  corner  of  Clark  and  Washington 
streets,  was  the  frame  Methodist  Church;  on  the  same  site 
a  few  years  later  they  built  a  brick  church  which  was  also 
destroyed  in  the  great  fire.  On  the  north  side  of  Washington 
Street,  about  midway  between  Clark  and  Dearborn  streets, 
stood  the  neat  frame  church  belonging  to  the  Unitarian 
Society  of  which  the  Rev.  Mr.  Harrington  was  pastor.  On 
south  Clark  Street,  between  Washington  and  Madison 
streets,  stood  an  old,  one-story  church,  the  First  Presby- 
terian, the  Rev.  L.  F.  Bascomb,  pastor.  On  La  Salle  Street, 
on  the  southeast  corner  of  Washington  Street,  was  the 
First  Baptist,  an  old  one-story  frame  building.  On  Ran- 
dolph Street,  about  a  hundred  feet  east  of  Clark,  stood  a 
neat,  new  modern  church,  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church, 
of  which  the  Rev.  Robert  W.  Patterson  was  pastor. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  city  at  the  southwest  corner  of 
Cass  and  Illinois  streets,  stood  the  original  St.  James's 
Episcopal  Church  alone  in  its  glory.  It  was  a  small  brick 
building  in  the  Gothic  style,  quite  simple  in  its  exterior. 
The  interior  was  remarkable  for  a  mahogany  pulpit  and 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR    63 

altar  screen  built  at  a  cost  of  $2,000.  The  first  rector  of  this 
church  was  the  Rev.  Isaac  W.  Hallam.  The  new  St.  James's 
was  built  on  the  southeast  corner  of  Cass  and  Huron  streets 
and  the  old  brick  church  was  sold  to  the  Presbyterians.  The 
great  fire  later  swept  away  the  comparatively  new  build- 
ing, the  tower  alone  remaining  standing. 

In  continuation  of  church  memoranda,  I  might  say  that 
the  south-side  Unitarian  Society  divided  the  value  of  its 
Washington  Street  property,  giving  to  its  west-side  church 
a  portion  and  the  rest  to  the  north-side  church  which  was 
then  under  the  ministry  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Colly er.  The  Unity 
Church  congregation  built  a  neat  frame  church  on  the  north- 
east corner  of  Chicago  Avenue  and  Dearborn  Street,  where 
I  remember  hearing  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  preach  one 
Sunday  morning. 

The  Fourth  Presbyterian  was  the  first  church  of  that 
denomination  started  on  the  North  Side.  Prominent  among 
its  members  were  Messrs.  Wadsworth,  Woodbridge,  Hoge, 
Dorman,  McCormick,  Mason,  Miller,  and  others,  under  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Richardson,  pastor.  Their  first  meeting-house  was 
built  on  the  east  side  of  North  Clark  Street,  between  Illinois 
and  Indiana  streets.  This  was  several  years  later  moved  to 
the  southeast  corner  of  State  and  Illinois  streets,  at  which 
time  the  Rev.  Dr.  Rice  was  pastor.  They  moved  later  into  a 
new  brick  church  on  the  southeast  corner  of  Cass  and  Indiana 
streets,  the  old  church  being  turned  into  a  sales-stable  for 
horses  and  carriages.  Both  the  old  and  the  new  churches 
were  destroyed  in  the  great  fire. 

For  some  years  there  had  been  another  Presbyterian 
church  in  existence,  the  Westminster  Church,  on  the  south- 
east corner  of  Dearborn  and  Ontario  streets,  under  the 


64  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

charge  of  the  Rev.  David  Swing. i  These  two  churches  were 
found  to  be  in  too  close  proximity  to  each  other,  so  they 
united  as  one  church,  the  Fourth  Presbyterian,  under  Pro- 
fessor Swing,  in  the  new  stone  church  built  after  the  Fire, 
on  the  northwest  corner  of  Rush  and  Superior  streets.  Pro- 
fessor Swing  retired  from  the  Fourth  Church  and  in  later 
years  became  a  noted  independent  preacher. 

The  Rev.  Dudley  Chase,  son  of  the  Right  Rev.  Phi- 
lander Chase,  first  Episcopal  Bishop  of  Illinois,  founded  the 
Church  of  the  Atonement,  as  the  first  Episcopal  church  on 
the  West  Side.  It  was  built  on  the  northeast  corner  of 
Peoria  and  Washington  streets.  The  Church  was  reorganized 
afterwards  by  Bishop  Whitehouse  and  became  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Saints  Peter  and  Paul. 

The  first  theater  with  any  pretensions  to  respectability 
was  built  by  John  B.  Rice,  at  one  time  mayor  of  Chicago, 
and  representative  in  Congress  from  the  Chicago  district, 
a  man  of  good  character  and  good  sense,  and  much  esteemed 
as  a  citizen.  This  theater  was  built  about  1846  on  Ran- 
dolph Street  east  of  Clark.  Later  Mr.  Rice  built  a  larger 
theater  on  Dearborn  Street,  where  the  Rice  Block  now 
stands,  which  was  finally  made  over  into  stores  and  offices 
about  the  time  McVicker  built  his  theater  before  the  Fire. 
The  Crosby  Opera  House,  built  about  1862  or  '63,  and  said 
to  have  cost  $400,000,  equaled  anything  of  its  kind  in  the 
United  States. 

In  the  Randolph  Street  theater  the  best  people  were  to 
be  seen.  All  the  noted  actors  and  singers  of  the  day  ap- 
peared, and  Italian  opera  was  produced  there. 

1  David  Swing  (1830-1894)  was  called  to  the  Fourth  Presbyterian  Church  in 
1866.  In  1874  he  was  tried  for  heresy  and  acquitted,  but,  as  a  consequence,  re- 
signed his  pastorate  and  withdrew  from  the  Presbyterian  ministry. — Editor. 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR    65 

There  is  much  talk  nowadays  of  Chicago's  variable  cli- 
mate. The  changes  in  weather  when  I  came  in  1842  were 
just  as  frequent  and  as  violent  as  they  are  now.  The  only 
difference  I  can  see  is  that  the  atmosphere  seems  to  be  more 
cloudy  or  darker.  When  the  city  was  small,  with  no  manu- 
facturing, very  little  coal  was  used.  There  was  scarcely  a 
boiler  in  the  whole  town.  No  steam,  no  engines,  no  steam 
tugs,  and  wood  was  the  only  fuel,  so  our  atmosphere  was 
beautifully  clear  and  pure,  and  was  one  of  the  delights  of 
life.  There  was  no  sewage  in  the  river;  there  were  no  pack- 
ing-houses or  anything  of  the  kind.  The  lake  winds  and  the 
prairie  winds  and  the  water  were  all  free  from  pollution, 
and  Chicago,  at  that  early  day,  was  a  good  place  in  which  to 
live.  It  was  rarely  very  hot  in  summer,  and,  however  cold 
the  winter  might  be,  a  stout,  large,  air-tight,  sheet-iron 
stove,  with  a  chunk  or  two  of  wood  in  it,  would  keep  us 
warm  night  and  day. 

About  the  coldest  weather  I  ever  experienced  in  Chicago 
was  the  long,  bleak  winter  of  1842  and  '43,  and  again  in 
January  of  1864,  when  the  thermometer  marked  30°  F. 
below  zero  in  and  about  Chicago.  The  night  of  January  2, 
1864,  there  had  been  a  very  heavy  snow-storm,  and  the 
morning  of  the  3rd  opened  intensely  cold  and  with  a  heavy 
gale  blowing  the  drifting  snow  in  every  direction.  My  wife's 
sister,  Mrs.  Samuel  Greeley,  died  that  day.  I  wanted  to  get 
a  carriage  to  take  my  wife  to  the  house,  which  was  on 
Hinsdale  (now  Chestnut)  Street,  near  Wells.  The  livery- 
stable  man  would  not  send  a  carriage  out,  because  the 
weather  was  so  bitter.  He  let  me  have  a  cutter,  however, 
one  horse  and  plenty  of  buffalo  robes,  in  which  I  managed 
to  drive  my  wife  up  to  her  sister's  house  and  return  to  the 


66  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

stable  as  quickly  as  possible.  On  the  same  night  the  regi- 
ment in  barracks  at  Wright's  Woods,  opposite  the  forks 
of  the  Graceland  and  Lakeview  roads,  broke  camp  and 
started  for  the  city  to  save  themselves  from  freezing  to 
death.  In  the  morning  some  of  them  were  seen  straggling 
down  North  Clark  Street  and  all  the  sleighs  and  horses 
that  could  be  gathered  were  sent  up  to  get  them  into  town. 

Before  railroads  began  operating  out  of  Chicago,  there 
was  quite  a  furore  for  plank  roads  to  overcome  the  bad 
condition  of  the  dirt  roads, — turnpikes,  they  were  called, 
made  from  mud  thrown  up  from  the  side  ditches  in  the 
spring  and  during  the  rains.  These  new  roads  were  made  of 
planks  about  three  or  four  inches  thick  and  a  foot  or  so  wide, 
of  the  required  length,  laid  on  stringers  and  spiked  down. 
There  was  the  Milwaukee  Plank  Road,  the  Northwestern,  the 
Southwestern,  and  the  Blue  Island  Pike  roads,  all  toll  roads. 
When  railroads  came  into  operation  they  were  abandoned. 

The  first  piece  of  wooden  block  pavement  put  down  in 
Chicago  was  the  original  "Nicholson"  on  South  Wells 
Street,  between  South  Water  and  Lake  streets.  Samuel  S. 
Greeley,  a  civil  engineer,  laid  this  initial  stretch  of  wooden- 
block  pavement;  it  was  a  good,  honest  job  and  wore  well  for 
years.  The  patentee,  a  Mr.  Nicholson  of  Boston,  had  never 
been  able  to  do  much  with  it.  Chicago  soil  was  well  adapted 
to  it,  and  from  its  introduction  here  has  come  the  exten- 
sive use  of  this  kind  of  pavement  in  many  cities  of  the 
United  States.  Mr.  Greeley  really  made  known  the  pave- 
ment for  the  patentees,  and  about  the  first  thing  the  paten- 
tees did  was  to  part  with  a  large  portion  of  their  interest 
and  deprive  Greeley  of  the  benefits  justly  due  him  in  its 
introduction  in  the  West. 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR    67 

Among  the  early  residents  of  Chicago,  whom  I  knew, 
was  Walter  L.  Newberry,  whose  name  is  perpetuated  by 
the  Newberry  Library.  A  few  years  after  I  came  to  Chicago 
he  married  a  Miss  Clapp  of  Lenox,  Massachusetts,  and 
lived  in  what  was  called  the  Hunter  House,  on  the  south- 
east corner  of  Illinois  and  Rush  streets.  Afterwards  he 
built  a  house  on  the  northeast  corner  of  Rush  and  Ontario 
streets,  where  he  lived  until  he  died.  His  death  occurred  on  a 
steamer  going  to  Europe.  He  left  a  widow  and  two  daughters. 
The  death  of  these  heirs  released  his  large  fortune  for  use  in 
founding  the  reference  library  which  now  bears  his  name. 

Another  old  resident  was  Justin  Butterfield,  an  eminent 
lawyer  who  came  from  western  New  York  and  owned 
the  half  block  on  the  northwest  corner  of  Rush  and  Mich- 
igan streets,  adjoining  John  H.  Kinzie's  property.  His 
residence  was  a  two-story  frame  house,  double  front,  with 
a  large  garden.  His  eldest  daughter  married  William  S. 
Johnston,  and  the  youngest  daughter,  Ada,  married  a  Mr. 
White.  Old  Justin  Butterfield  was  said  to  know  more  law 
than  any  man  in  Illinois  and  could  refer  to  book  and  page 
from  memory.  He  was  a  rough  and  surly  man  in  manners, 
as  a  general  thing,  and  never  noticed  anyone  in  the  streets, 
unless  it  might  be  some  professional  friend  or  client. 

He  was  said  to  be  a  man  of  wit,  quick  at  repartee  and 
cynical,  but  certainly  he  was  not  an  agreeable  man  to  deal 
with.  It  was  related  of  him  that  when  he  was  defending 
Joseph  Smith,  the  Mormon,  at  Springfield,  the  court  room 
being  crowded  with  ladies,  Mr.  Butterfield  opened  his 
address  with  these  words: — 

"I  rise  to  defend  the  prophet  of  the  Lord,  surrounded  by 
his  angels." 


68  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

John  H.  Kinzie,  son  of  old  John  Kinzie,  the  first  white 
settler  in  Chicago,  was  one  of  the  early  residents  I  knew 
well.  Kinzie's  Addition  was  named  for  him.  He  lived  in  a 
two-story  brick  house  on  the  northeast  corner  of  Cass  and 
Michigan  streets,  with  barn  and  garden.  There  was  noth- 
ing remarkable  about  John  H.  Kinzie,  except  that  he  was 
one  of  the  old  inhabitants.  I  think  that  in  1842  and  '43,  he 
was  the  registrar  of  the  Land  Office,  his  office  being  on 
Kinzie  Street  near  State.  I  brought  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  him  and  presented  it  there.  Mrs.  Kinzie  was  a  woman  of 
intellect  and  influence.  Their  daughter,  Nellie,  married  a 
Mr.  Gordon  of  Savannah,  Ga.,  and  a  son,  Arthur,  com- 
manded a  colored  regiment  during  the  Civil  War.  There 
was  another  son,  George,  who  was  in  the  regular  army. 
The  Kinzie  house  was  a  headquarters  for  Episcopalians, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kinzie  being  chief  pillars  in  St.  James's 
Church.  She  was  the  author  of  Wau  Bun,  a  book  which  gave 
an  account  of  the  early  days  of  Chicago  and  Illinois.  Kinzie's 
estate  was  small.  He  generally  held  some  public  office.  He 
died  in  Chicago  during  the  Civil  War. 

On  the  block  bordered  by  Rush,  Erie,  Cass  and  Ontario 
streets  stood  William  B.  Ogden's  residence,  a  large,  double, 
two-storied,  conspicuous  house,  with  portico  and  columns 
and  broad  steps.  There  were  stables,  outhouses,  and  green- 
houses. Originally  built  by  a  land  company,  it  was  sold  to 
Mr.  Ogden  during  the  panic  of  1837  and  1838.  Mr.  Ogden 
was  a  very  pleasant  man  socially.  His  manner  was  genial, 
attractive,  and  gentlemanly,  and  his  conversation  intelli- 
gent, reflecting  the  power  of  keen  observation  —  altogether 
he  was  a  very  agreeable  bachelor.  He  was  also  a  man  of 
great  ability;  clear-visioned  and  far-sighted,  a  projector  on 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR     69 

a  large  scale.  I  knew  Mr.  Ogden  well.  He  was  always  cour- 
teous and  pleasant,  and  on  several  occasions  did  favors  for 
me  for  which  I  was  very  grateful.  In  about  his  seventieth 
year,  he  married  a  Miss  Arnot,  a  maiden  lady  of  Elmira, 
New  York.  He  died  a  year  or  two  afterwards  at  his  country 
place  near  New  York  City,  "Boscobel,"  leaving  a  widow, 
but  no  children. 

On  the  northwest  corner  of  Dearborn  and  Ontario  streets, 
in  a  long,  low  frame  house,  lived  Isaac  N.  Arnold,  a  lawyer. 
On  this  corner  the  Chicago  Historical  Society  building 
now  stands.  Mr.  Arnold  was  a  man  of  acknowledged 
ability  in  the  law;  was  a  member  of  Congress  from  the 
Chicago  district;  an  honest,  patriotic  Republican,  and  a 
friend  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  He  wrote  several  books  on 
historical  subjects,  among  them  a  life  of  Lincoln. 

Gurdon  S.  Hubbard  was,  after  John  Kinzie,  I  believe, 
the  oldest  settler  in  Chicago.  He  came  from  Middletown, 
Connecticut,  but  had  been  in  the  northwest  country  since 
boyhood.  He  was  a  widower  when  I  came  to  Chicago.  He 
had  one  son,  Gurdon  S.  Hubbard,  Jr.  His  second  wife  was 
his  cousin,  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Hubbard,  who  lived  on  the 
northeast  corner  of  Dearborn  and  Ontario  streets.  Henry 
Hubbard,  the  father  of  Mrs.  Herbert  Ayer,  was  a  son  of 
the  same  Mr.  Hubbard.  I  knew  Henry  Hubbard  very  well, 
having  hunted  deer  with  him  and  others  along  about  1844 
and  '45  in  the  "  sag  timber  "  twenty  miles  below  Chicago. 
Henry  Hubbard,  or  "Hank"  Hubbard,  as  he  was  called, 
married  a  daughter  of  Judge  Smith.  She  was  a  sister  of 
Mrs.  Dr.  Boone  and  Mrs.  Stephen  F.  Gale.  Gurdon  S.  Hub- 
bard married  a  second  time,  about  1850.  He  was  a  pork 
packer  when  I  arrived  in  Chicago,  his  establishment  being 


70  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

next  door  to  my  store  on  South  Water  Street,  near  Clark. 
He  was  a  man  of  iron  constitution.  He  told  me  that  he 
once  walked  seventy  miles  in  one  day  from  early  morning 
to  candle  light  and  beat  some  famous  Indian  walkers  across 
country.  He  was  always  a  pleasant,  genial  man,  —  a  good 
citizen  and  much  respected.  He  had  much  to  do  with  the 
Indians  in  his  early  life  as  a  fur-trader,  and  now  and  then 
when  we  were  neighbors  on  Indiana  Street,  some  of  his 
old  Indian  friends  when  in  town  would  come  to  see  him. 

On  Cass  Street,  between  Huron  and  Erie  streets,  lived 
the  McCagg  family.  I  first  knew  Mr.  McCagg  as  a  store- 
keeper on  Randolph  Street,  not  far  east  of  Randolph  Street 
bridge.  Afterwards  he  entered  into  partnership  with 
John  S.  Reed  in  the  lumber  business.  Ezra  B.  McCagg,  the 
well-known  lawyer,  was  his  son.  Another  son  went  to  the 
Civil  War  with  a  Chicago  battery,  contracted  a  disease  and 
died.  His  name  is  recorded  with  others  on  the  Soldiers' 
Monument  in  St.  James's  Church  vestibule.  He  had  two 
daughters,  one  who  married  Andrew  Brown  of  Evanston, 
and  another,  Miss  Caroline  McCagg.  E.  B.  McCagg's  first 
wife  was  the  Widow  Jones,  a  sister  of  William  B.  Ogden. 
They  had  one  son,  Louis  McCagg. 

Another  old  resident  was  Monsieur  Canda,  father  of  Mrs. 
Humphreys  and  Mrs.  Payson,  and  also  of  the  first  Mrs. 
William  Norman  Campbell.  He  owned  a  large  plot  of 
ground  on  North  Wells  Street,  where  he  was  living  when  I 
first  came  to  Chicago  in  1842.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
his  daughter,  Miss  Canda,  later  Mrs.  Humphreys,  about 
1844  in  New  York,  when  I  called  upon  her  with  a  mutual 
friend  to  get  some  trifle  she  wanted  to  send  to  her  father  in 
Chicago.  She  was  a  very  agreeable  young  French  lady. 


GLEANINGS  FROM  A  FAMILY  MEMOIR    71 

She  came  to  Chicago  the  same  fall  after  my  return  here, 
and  married  David  Humphreys  a  year  later. 

In  1842  the  city  had  about  6,600  people  and  the  popula- 
tion did  not  increase  until  the  resumption  of  work  on  the 
Illinois-and-Michigan  Canal.  There  was  really  but  very 
small  increase  in  population  until  the  railroads  reached 
Chicago  and  began  to  build  west  from  the  city.  Chicago's 
location  demanded  railroads  and  they  came  as  a  necessity. 
Chicago  had  not  had  any  better  start  in  a  business  way 
than  several  other  lake  towns.  It  had  five  or  six  grain  stor- 
age warehouses  of  moderate  capacity,  and  fair  stocks  of 
goods  in  the  hands  of  active,  energetic  traders,  who  were 
always  ready  to  buy  whatever  farmers  had  to  sell  and  to 
pay  for  them  in  goods  or  cash,  but  there  was  very  little 
capital  in  the  town  in  1842.  Most  of  the  merchants  pur- 
chased their  goods  in  the  East  on  time  twice  a  year,  and 
about  all  the  money  to  buy  wheat  was  furnished  by  the 
Wisconsin  Marine  and  Fire  Company  Bank,  of  which  George 
Smith  was  the  head  and  Alexander  Mitchell,  of  Milwaukee, 
the  cashier.  The  rate  was  twelve  per  cent  per  annum  on 
drafts  or  bills  of  lading  consigned  to  the  Bank's  agents  at 
Buffalo,  and  Smith,  on  the  proceeds  going  to  New  York, 
charged  merchants  two  and  one-half  per  cent  exchange  in 
New  York,  which  really  cost  him  nothing;  while  his  agents 
handling  the  stuff  between  received  their  commission  on 
sales  of  the  produce.  It  was  in  this  way  that  Smith, 
backed  by  Scotch  capital  in  Dundee,  made  his  money  and 
laid  the  foundation  of  his  large  fortune.  Then  too,  he  com- 
manded the  Galena  lead  trade  through  his  bank  there 
under  direction  of  James  Carter. 

In  those  quite  distant  days  in  Chicago  the  comparatively 


72  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

small  circle  of  business  and  professional  men,  and  others  of 
note,  were  generally  well  acquainted  with  or  known  to  one 
another,  and  whenever  there  was  a  social  gathering  there 
would  be  a  good  deal  of  mixing  in.  Every  man  in  those  days 
stood  on  his  own  merits.  There  were  very  few  conventional 
restrictions  on  society.  There  were  really  no  rich  men,  al- 
though there  were  a  good  many  people  possessed  of  land 
who  were  really  land  poor.  Each  one  seemed  to  have  but 
one  object  in  life  and  that  was  to  strive  for  the  main  chance, 
the  means  to  live  and  get  along,  so  that  in  this  respect  all 
were  very  much  on  a  level.  There  were,  however,  some 
people  better  educated,  more  cultivated,  of  more  intelli- 
gence, than  others  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  these  were 
more  agreeable  to  meet  in  a  social  way;  but  there  were  no 
purse-proud  people,  nor  any  fashionable  and  exclusive,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  the  people  were  all  poor  and  every- 
one was  disposed  to  respect  his  neighbor.  Vice,  wickedness 
and  crime  were  comparatively  unknown.  Chicago  was  not  a 
fertile  spot  at  that  time  for  amusements  of  a  public  char- 
acter. There  was  not  a  restaurant  in  the  city,  nor  what  is 
now  known  as  a  saloon. 1  If  one  wanted  a  drink,  about  the 
only  place  he  could  get  it  was  the  small,  simple  bar  in  the 
public  room  of  such  hotels  or  farmers'  taverns  as  there 
were  here  then.  Chicago  in  the  forties  was  really  a 
"one-horse"  town  and  had  not  begun  to  step  forward  to- 
wards metropolitan  proportions  and  surroundings,  —  with 
all  the  attending  evils  of  a  great  city. 

1  Written  in  1882. 


VI 

OUT  OF  THE  PAST 
BY  MRS.  WILLIAM  BLAIB 

I  FIRST  saw  Chicago  in  1854,  when  I  came  here  a  bride.  It 
then  boasted  a  population  of  75,000,  which  we  thought  a 
large  city  compared  with  the  5,000  when  my  husband  took 
up  his  residence  here  in  1842.  My  first  impression  was: 
How  very  low !  How  very  flat !  How  very  muddy ! 

When  I  think  of  the  earlier  Chicago  and  the  influence  of 
environment,  I  ask  myself  whether  hills  and  mountains  are 
essential  to  romance  and  especially  attractive  to  brave  and 
chivalrous  spirits. 

We  recall  the  historical  novels  that  center  about  the 
rugged  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  the  Heights  of  Abraham, 
the  Chateau  of  St.  Louis  or  Front enac,  which  read  like  the 
social  life  of  a  new  Versailles  in  a  new  France;  or  we  look 
back  to  the  hill-country  of  our  own  New  England,  where 
many  of  us  have  seen,  in  old  Colonial  homes,  much  to  excite 
the  imagination.  What  have  we  to  compare  with  such  set- 
tings of  social  life?  Let  us  gather  up  what  we  may. 

Our  prairies,  we  grant,  are  low  and  generally  level,  but 
they  are  not  without  beauty.  In  the  early  days  their  flora 
excited  enthusiastic  admiration.  "Flower  oceans,"  they 
have  been  called,  and  the  green  swell  of  the  rolling  prairies 
contributes  to  the  fitness  of  the  simile.  Of  our  admiration  for 
our  ever  changing  and  ever  beautiful  inland  sea,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  speak. 


74  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

And  when  we  turn  to  the  men  who  made  Chicago,  even  if 
they  were  not  born  on  our  soil,  or  cultivated  and  developed 
here,  we  feel  that  they  created  a  community  which  enables 
us  to  call  ourselves  "citizens  of  no  mean  city  or  state." 
While  we  may  not  say  "  Chicago  is  Illinois,"  as  the  French 
say  "Paris  is  France,"  yet  all  must  acknowledge  the  domi- 
nating influence  of  our  city  in  the  State. 

Whenever  I  have  heard  some  of  the  pioneers  of  Chicago, 
by  my  own  fireside,  relate  their  early  experiences,  I  have 
thought  that  the  courage  in  surmounting  obstacles,  the  in- 
domitable perseverance  in  overcoming  difficulties,  contempt 
for  hardship,  were  the  same  in  essence — whether  exercised  by 
soldiers  in  war,  in  mountains  or  wildernesses,  in  the  Old 
World,  or  in  the  New  —  as  these  men  exercised  in  the 
sloughs  and  quicksands  of  our  own  Prairie  State. 

Judge  Grant  Goodrich  said  of  Gurdon  Hubbard,  in  an 
address  before  the  Historical  Society,  after  rehearsing  some 
of  his  acts  of  heroic  endurance  and  self-sacrifice,  at  the  im- 
minent peril  of  his  own  life,  to  save  another,  "In  ancient 
Greece  or  Rome  the  memory  of  such  deeds  would  have  been 
perpetuated  in  bronze  or  marble  and  glorified  in  historic 
song."  The  Chicago  Spirit,  of  which  we  hear  much,  is  not 
a  rhetorical  vaporing,  or  of  recent  birth.  It  has  been  with 
us  from  the  beginning. 

For  several  years  of  its  early  existence,  Chicago  was  sim- 
ply Fort  Dearborn  and  the  trading  establishment  of  John 
Kinzie.  "Only  this  and  nothing  more,"  save  perhaps  a  few 
huts,  inhabited  by  half-breeds,  and  the  wigwams  of  the 
Pottawatomies. 

The  early  social  life  of  Chicago  was  influenced  greatly 
by  events  that  mark  our  financial  history.  From  1833 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  75 

to  1837,  the  city  experienced  unparalleled  prosperity, 
owing  to  the  prevalence  of  "the  western  fever,"  when 
thousands  were  flocking  from  the  East  to  secure  homes  in 
the  West. 

The  superior  advantages  of  Chicago  were  being  exploited; 
the  most  alluring  reports  of  the  character  of  the  soil  of  our 
State,  its  productiveness  and  the  facility  for  making  farms 
on  our  prairies,  were  circulated  far  and  wide.  Soon  both 
capital  and  credit  were  enlisted.  Money,  owing  to  unlimited 
bank  issues,  was  abundant,  and  loans  to  any  amount  were 
effected  with  the  greatest  ease.  The  building  of  the  Illinois- 
and-Michigan  Canal  was  the  Panama  event  in  our  early 
history.  The  sales  of  the  city  lots  donated  by  the  State  for 
the  benefit  of  the  project  were  epochs  in  the  financial  world 
that  served  to  increase  the  speculative  fever.  The  high  tide 
of  speculation  was  reached  in  1836.  The  turn  in  affairs  came 
the  following  year,  and  in  1837  —  the  year  the  city  was  in- 
corporated —  occurred  one  of  the  greatest  financial  panics 
that  has  ever  afflicted  our  whole  country.  It  was  a  period, 
generally,  of  protested  notes.  In  Chicago,  it  was  a  season  of 
mourning  and  desolation.  Real  estate  in  which  all  had  in- 
vested was  greatly  depreciated  —  in  fact,  could  not  be  sold 
at  any  price.  The  depression  continued  until  1839-40. 
Everybody  was  poor,  and  at  the  social  gatherings  of  those 
days,  a  writer  says,  "the  costumes  of  both  men  and  women 
were  of  a  bygone  age." 

There  were  but  one  or  two  private  carriages,  but  the  con- 
dition of  the  streets  in  winter  was  such  that  a  dray  was  a 
safer  vehicle  than  a  carriage. 

No  merchant  of  the  present  time  can  realize  the  money 
troubles  in  the  forties,  or  the  blessings  now  of  a  stable  cur- 


76  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

rency.1  All  western  bank-notes  were  then  at  a  discount, 
which  varied  from  day  to  day.  There  were  also  hundreds  of 
counterfeit  notes  in  circulation.  A  necessary  equipment  for 
every  store  was  a  copy  of  The  Bank  Note  Detector,  issued 
monthly  in  New  York,  which  gave  the  present  value  of  all 
bank-notes  and  described  counterfeit  paper.  This  was  con- 
sulted in  nearly  every  trade  where  money  was  paid.  This 
experience  was  repeated  in  1857,  and  I  remember  waiting 
at  the  counter  in  Carter's,  our  leading  dry -goods  store  at 
that  time,  while  my  bills  were  passed  upon  as  to  their  gen- 
uineness and  their  value.  On  the  counter,  also,  was  a  bottle 
of  nitric  acid  with  which  to  test  coins. 

Many  people,  after  the  collapse  of  the  real  estate  boom 
in  1836,  went  back  East,  or  to  Galena,  where  the  lead  mines 
were  doing  well,  or  to  the  new  town  of  Milwaukee,  which 
attracted  numerous  immigrants. 

The  position  of  Chicago,  however,  was  too  favorable  to 
permit  the  city  very  long  to  be  seriously  affected  by  any 
calamity,  however  great.  Her  citizens  returned  to  early 
habits  of  industry  and  economy;  her  business  men  called 
into  requisition  all  their  experience  to  build  up  their  injured 
credit,  and  to  restore  their  business  to  a  safe  and  permanent 
foundation. 

Some  years  ago  I  spent  a  delightful  hour  with  Mrs. 
Gurdon  Hubbard  talking  over  early  days.  She  arrived  with 
her  father's  family  in  1836.  At  that  time  everybody  was 
rich.  There  was  much  elegant  dress.  Fashions  were  peculiar 
and  school-girls  wore  low-necked  frocks  and  slippers  to 
school,  even  when  there  were  no  sidewalks.  The  school 
taught  by  Miss  Willard  was  near  the  present  location  of  the 
1  The  population  of  Chicago  in  1840  was  4,479. 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  77 

Sherman  House.  Many  of  the  girls  came  from  the  north 
side  of  the  river.  On  South  Water  Street  they  had  to  cross 
the  slough  on  a  plank.  Mrs.  Hubbard  recalled  this  incident : 
One  day,  as  the  girls  were  coming  from  school,  they  met  on 
this  plank  a  number  of  Indians,  who,  with  heads  erect,  look- 
ing neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  brushed  the  young  girls 
off  the  plank  into  the  slough. 

At  Rush  Street  there  was  a  ferry,  but  at  Dearborn  Street 
a  drawbridge,  which  was  used  by  the  school-girls.  It  was 
drawn  up  by  a  windlass  and  chain,  which  would  often  catch 
and  furnish  a  convenient  excuse  for  being  late  at  school. 
Since  Chicago  began,  the  river  has  been  the  scapegoat  for 
many  a  tardy  mortal.  Extravagance  in  dress  in  those  days 
was  encouraged  by  the  system  of  long  credit  which  pre- 
vailed. Everything  was  charged,  and  unfortunately  little 
was  paid  for  when  the  general  failure  occurred  the  following 
year. 

Mrs.  Stiles  Burton  also  told  me  interesting  incidents  of 
the  early  days.  She  explained  to  me  why,  in  the  first  year 
or  so  of  my  life  in  Chicago,  I  so  frequently  heard  allusions 
to  Warrenville  and  Geneva.  I  did  not  understand  their  re- 
lation to  Chicago.  The  farmers  in  that  region  had  come 
from  the  eastern  part  of  Massachusetts  at  an  early  day  and 
naturally  brought  families  with  them.  The  daughters  had 
become  attractive  young  ladies;  while  Chicago  men,  both 
business  and  professional,  were  generally  young  bachelors. 
There  were  very  few  young  ladies  in  Chicago.  When  the 
sessions  of  the  County  Court  met  in  Geneva  —  the  county 
seat  of  Kane  County  —  the  young  lawyers,  Norman  B. 
Judd,  Judge  Hugh  T.  Dickey,  Thomas  Hoyne,  Judge  John 
Dean  Caton,  and  others,  attended  the  sessions,  followed  by 


78  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

a  greater  or  lesser  number  of  young  business  men  interested 
in  the  cases.  It  was  always  an  occasion  for  a  dance  and 
the  farmers'  pretty  daughters  were  gathered  in. 

There  were  seven  sisters  in  the  Warren  family,  who  lived 
in  Warrenville,  near  Geneva.  Later,  one  was  married  to 
Silas  B.  Cobb.  Another,  Mrs.  Jerome  Beecher,  is  well  known 
for  her  many  charities.  Mrs.  Stiles  Burton  met  her  "fate"  on 
a  horseback  ride  —  the  popular  pleasure  of  the  day.  Chi- 
cago bachelors  who  wished  to  show  some  politeness  to  a 
young  lady  visitor  invited  her  for  a  horseback  ride. 

In  going  to  dances  in  those  days,  or  rather  evenings,  the 
gentlemen  walked,  wearing  high  boots  on  account  of  the 
mud,  exchanging  them  for  slippers  at  the  house.  The  young 
ladies  sat  on  buffalo  robes  spread  in  the  bottom  of  two- 
wheeled  carts,  which  were  backed  up  to  the  doors,  when 
strong  arms  lifted  the  fair  freight  from  carts  to  front  halls. 

An  address  by  Isaac  N.  Arnold  on  the  presentation  of  a 
portrait  of  William  B.  Ogden  to  the  Chicago  Historical 
Society  gives  an  interesting  picture  of  early  days  here. 
Speaking  of  the  old  Lake  House,  the  principal  hotel, 
corner  of  Kinzie  and  Rush  streets,  Mr.  Arnold  says :  - 

"It  faced  across  the  river  towards  the  neatly  kept  and 
brightly  whitewashed  stockade,  pickets,  and  buildings  of 
old  Fort  Dearborn.  The  river  was  spanned  at  this  point 
by  a  rope-ferry  and  on  the  south  side  of  the  river  was 
the  military  post,  with  its  grass  plot,  shaded  by  the  old 
historic  honey-locust,  and  within  it  stood  the  granite  boul- 
der, which,  tradition  said,  had  been  the  Indian  *  Stone  of 
Sacrifice  and  Death. ' *  The  river  was  then  a  clear,  trans- 

1  After  a  half -century  in  the  Arnold  garden,  this  stone  now  rests  in  the 
Chicago  Historical  Society  rooms. 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  79 

parent,  running  stream,  its  grassy  banks  fringed  with  trees 
and  flowers. 

"Toward  the  east,  the  grounds  of  the  old  Kinzie  house, 
the  home  of  the  father  of  John  H.  Kinzie,  sloped  gently  to 
the  river.  The  banks  were  grassy  and  the  broad  piazza,  was 
pleasantly  shaded  by  four  large  Lombardy  poplars.  The 
young  ladies  of  those  days  were  accustomed  to  the  saddle, 
and  horseback  riding  was  a  common  amusement.  There  was 
a  fine  natural  forest  between  Clark  and  Pine  streets,  north 
on  the  lake  shore,  and  along  its  grassy  paths  lay  fallen  and 
decayed  trees.  Over  these  we  practiced  our  horses  and 
Indian  ponies  in  leaping.  Few  now  living  can  recall  those 
gay  scenes,  but  those  who  can  will  not  have  forgotten  the 
almost  unequalled  beauty  of  a  daughter  of  Colonel  Whistler, 
nor  those  black-eyed,  dark-haired  Virginia  girls,  nor  the 
belles  of  mixed  French  and  Indian  races,  who  united  the 
graces  and  beauty  of  both.  And  I  am  quite  certain  none 
who  was  so  happy  as  to  participate  in  those  rides  will  have 
forgotten  that  rosy-cheeked,  golden-haired  lass,  the  most 
fearless  and  graceful  of  all,  whom  the  Indians  in  their  ad- 
miration called,  (0-go-ne-qua-bo-qua'  (The  Wild  Rose)." 

This  was  Mrs.  Skinner,  the  wife  of  one  of  Chicago's  most 
eminent  jurists  and  mother  of  the  late  Mrs.  Henry  J.  Will- 
ing, the  late  Mrs.  Ambrose  Cramer,  and  the  Misses  Eliza- 
beth and  Frederika  Skinner,  and  grandmother  of  Mark 
Skinner  Willing,  Ambrose  Cramer,  Jr.,  and  Mrs.  J.  G.  Mc- 
Clure,  Jr.  I  have  been  told  of  the  special  admiration  of  a 
young  chief  who  gave  her  a  silver  ring  and  wished  to  marry 
her. 

Mr.  Arnold  gives  us  a  picture  of  the  house  of  William  B. 
Ogden,  the  first  mayor  of  Chicago.  He  writes : — 


80  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

"There  is  not  to-day  (1884)  in  our  wealthy  and  luxurious 
City  —  there  never  has  been  in  fact  —  a  residence  more 
attractive,  more  homelike,  more  beautiful  than  that  of  Mr. 
Ogden,  which,  with  all  its  treasures  of  art  and  books,  was 
destroyed  in  the  great  fire  of  1871.  The  house  stood  in  the 
center  of  a  block  bounded  by  Rush,  Cass,  Erie  and  Ontario 
streets.  On  it  was  a  fine  growth  of  maple,  cottonwood,  oak, 
ash,  cherry,  elm,  birch,  and  hickory  trees.  In  the  center 
stood  his  double  house  built  of  wood.  A  broad  piazza,  ex- 
tended across  the  south  front.  A  large  conservatory  and 
fruit  houses  added  to  its  beauty  and  comfort." 

In  this  house  of  generous  and  liberal  hospitality  was 
found  no  lavish  or  vulgar  exhibition  of  wealth.  Here  were 
refinement,  broad  intelligence,  kind  courtesy  and  hospital- 
ity. Here  all  prominent  and  distinguished  strangers  were 
welcomed  and  entertained  and  here,  too,  the  humble  and 
poor,  if  distinguished  for  merit,  culture  or  ability,  were 
received.  Among  the  guests  entertained  in  this  home  were 
Martin  Van  Buren,  Daniel  Webster,  Henry  J.  Tilden, 
William  Cullen  Bryant,  Miss  Harriet  Martineau,  Fredrika 
Bremer,  Margaret  Fuller,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  Wen- 
dell Phillips,  Charlotte  Cushman,  and  Charles  Lever,  the 
Irish  novelist. 

In  1854,  my  first  winter  in  Chicago,  our  ways  were  not 
yet  all  made  smooth.  Lake  Street  was  the  only  paved  street 
and  that  was  only  "planked"  and  was  in  bad  condition. 
Along  the  lake  shore,  which  was  sandy,  it  was  always  dry, 
but  the  sand  was  so  deep  and  heavy  that  carriages  plowed 
their  way  as  slowly  as  through  the  prairie  mud  not  more 
than  a  couple  of  streets  away. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  change  of  climate  about  1854,  if  I 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  81 

may  believe  what  was  then  told  me.  There  was  more  snow 
and  much  colder  weather  than  formerly.  In  the  winter  of 
1855,  President  Hitchcock,  of  Amherst  College,  the  noted 
geologist,  was  invited  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to  give  a  course  of 
lectures  on  geology.  He  was  our  guest  during  his  stay  in  the 
city.  The  cold  was  so  intense  and  Metropolitan  Hall  at  the 
corner  of  Randolph  and  La  Salle  streets,  the  Auditorium  of 
those  days,  was  so  poorly  heated,  that  during  two  of  his 
lectures  he  wore  his  overcoat  and  leggings,  looking  like 
an  Arctic  explorer.  One  evening  the  gas  failed  from 
frost  —  a  not  infrequent  occurrence  —  at  the  beginning 
of  the  lecture  and  the  hall  was  dimly  lighted  by  lamps 
and  candles. 

Furnaces  were  not  common  in  private  houses  and,  in  our 
parlors,  we  warmed  ourselves  one  side  at  a  time  before  the 
grate  fire,  and  our  "hot  faces  were  steaming,  the  while  we 
were  freezing  our  backs."  My  first  home,  a  three-story-and- 
basement  brick  house,  was  at  No.  Ill  Wabash  Avenue,  now 
part  of  Stevens'  dry-goods  store,  then  a  quiet  residence 
district.  Our  church,  the  Second  Presbyterian,  stood  on  the 
corner  of  Wabash  Avenue  and  Washington  Street.  Our 
friends  and  neighbors  on  either  side  in  our  block,  were  J.  H. 
Dunham,  Dr.  Rutter,  the  Stephen  Gales,  Judge  John  M. 
Wilson  and  others,  while  across  the  street  was  the  home 
and  garden  of  Judge  and  Mrs.  Mark  Skinner. 

I  attended  many  delightful  parties,  as  they  were  then 
called,  that  winter.  My  sister-in-law  gave  one  to  introduce 
me.  It  was  no  small  task  to  give  a  party  in  those  days.  First 
of  all,  your  very  formal  invitations  must  be  written  in  a 
fine,  feminine  hand,  and  next,  they  must  be  delivered  in 
person,  lest  some  should  be  lost.  The  mail  was  not  thought 


82  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

of,  and  it  was  some  time  before  it  was  considered  quite  safe 
or  even  polite  to  trust  such  an  important  matter  to  a 
messenger. 

The  caterer,  who  kept  a  small  shop  on  Lake  Street, 
could  be  depended  upon  for  little  else  than  ice-cream.  His 
sign  proclaimed  proudly  that  this  commodity  could  be  fur- 
nished "at  all  seasons  of  the  year."  Your  cakes,  a  prom- 
inent feature  of  the  table,  and  whatever  else  you  desired, 
must  be  prepared,  not  by  a  chef,  but  by  your  plain,  willing 
cook,  with  yourself  as  first  assistant. 

In  the  early  days,  our  food  supply  was  varied  and  abun- 
dant. The  prairie  teemed  with  game,  so  that  we  had  prairie- 
chicken,  partridge,  quail  and  other  birds,  and  venison  also, 
while  from  the  lake  we  drew  delicious  fish,  lake  trout,  white- 
fish  and  perch. 

In  fresh  fruit  we  were  deficient.  Only  berries  were  abun- 
dant. The  larger  fruits  were  all  brought  around  the  lakes 
from  Buffalo. 

I  remember  our  long  and  disagreeable  drive,  with  mud 
often  to  the  hubs  of  the  wheels,  the  afternoon  before  a 
party,  to  a  village  called  Cleaverville,  somewhere  between 
35th  and  39th  streets,  east  of  Cottage  Grove  Avenue,  to 
the  only  florist  known,  where  we  could  buy  flowers.  Flowers 
were  rarely  seen  at  an  entertainment  in  the  winter  and  our 
friends  expressed  surprise  at  seeing  them  on  the  parlor  man- 
tels on  this  occasion. 

The  people  of  that  time  were  delightful,  so  wide-awake 
and  intelligent!  The  young  men  were  educated,  energetic,  and 
high-principled.  Where  there  was  not  a  surplus  of  young 
ladies,  I  can  testify  that  young  matrons  did  not  lack  for  at- 
tention. There  were  so  few  young  ladies  that  it  was  quite 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  83 

common  for  married  ladies  to  have  some  young  woman 
friend  from  the  East  spend  the  winter  or  part  of  it  with 
them.  I  remember  that  it  was  a  common  question,  "Do 
you  know  what  young  ladies  are  expected  here  this  winter?" 

When  we  moved  into  what  was  for  over  fifty  years  our 
home  at  No.  230  South  Michigan  Avenue,1  there  was  but  one 
other  house  in  the  block,  a  one-story-and-basement  brick, 
and  in  the  block  north  there  was  but  one  house  (the  darks'), 
which  was  the  beginning  of  Terrace  Row.  We  felt  ourselves 
quite  in  the  country.  One  of  the  familiar  sights  was  the 
"lowing  herds  which  wound  slowly  o'er  the  lea,"  attended 
by  the  cowherds,  who  for  years  drove  them,  morning  and 
evening,  to  and  from  the  open  pastures  farther  south 
on  Michigan  Avenue.  Every  self-respecting  family  kept 
a  cow. 

The  basin  of  water  between  the  narrow  park  and  the  rail- 
way was  much  used  for  boating. 

I  would  like  to  refer  to  a  small,  but  charming,  literary 
club  organized  in  the  late  fifties,  at  the  home  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Walter  Neef  —  a  house  of  delightful  social  culture. 
Mrs.  Neef  was  a  sister  of  the  late  Mrs.  R.  W.  Patterson. 
Mr.  Neef  was  chosen  president  of  the  club.  We  met  Satur- 
day evenings  at  each  other's  homes  —  about  twenty  mem- 
bers, ladies  and  gentlemen.  At  the  close  of  the  evening 
simple  refreshments  were  served.  The  members  were  the 
Burches,  Bentleys,  Farnums,  Judds,  Farwells,  Havens,  and 
a  few  young  ladies  and  gentlemen.  We  wrote  no  papers;  the 
literary  part  was  chiefly  selected  readings.  I  remember  one 
Christmas  Eve  two  ladies  read  Dickens'  Christmas  Carol, 
which  was  new  at  that  time.  But  we  had,  even  then,  aspira- 

1  Where  the  Congress  Hotel  and  Annex  now  stand. 


84  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

tions  for  cultivating  our  dramatic  tastes,  different  members 
taking  part  in  reading  expurgated  plays.  There  were  none 
to  laugh  at  us  but  ourselves. 

My  large  parlor,  sixteen  by  twenty-four  feet,  was  the 
scene  of  numerous  delightful  occasions.  The  memory  of 
many  of  these  is  now  like  the  dim  outline  of  old  daguerreo- 
types. There  were  two  or  three  benefit  concerts  for  local 
charities.  I  recall  one  for  the  building  fund  of  the  Home  for 
the  Friendless,  especially  promoted  by  Mrs.  Joseph  Medill. 
The  music  was  given  by  the  very  popular  singers  Clara 
Louise  Kellogg  and  Annie  Louise  Carey.  The  gentlemen  who 
sang  with  them  were  Castle  and  Campbell  or  Tom  Carl. 
Another  interesting  evening  was  an  annual  meeting  of  the 
Historical  Society,  before  they  had  a  building.  The  address 
of  the  evening  was  given  by  Dr.  Charles  H.  Ray,  at  that 
time  editor  of  the  Tribune. 

But  to  consider  society  with  its  present-day  definition  - 
one  author  says,  "We  had  nothing  worthy  of  being  called 
*  society'  until  after  the  great  fire  of  1871."  Another  says, 
"Not  until  the  Columbian  Fair  of  '92."  I  have  no  means  of 
knowing  when  it  was  organized,  but  I  remember  some  things 
that  would  have  hindered  a  large  organization  of  this  kind 
during  the  first  thirty  years  of  our  city  life,  besides  those 
hindrances  that  have  been  already  mentioned. 

In  1854,  there  were  but  two  or  three  benevolent  institu- 
tions established  in  Chicago  —  Mercy  Hospital  and  the 
Catholic  and  Protestant  Orphan  Asylums.  If  one  should 
try  to  count  the  large  number  of  institutions  and  societies 
"ministering  to  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  established 
during  the  last  fifty  years,  he  would  realize  how  very  busy  a 
great  many  men  and  women  have  been  —  especially  women. 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  85 

During  our  four  years  of  Civil  War  our  women  were  much 
engrossed  in  work  for  the  comfort  of  our  soldiers  at  the 
front  —  sewing,  knitting  socks,  and  scraping  lint  for  the 
wounded.  Later  they  worked  for  the  great  Sanitary  Fair,  in 
which  Chicago  led  the  way  and  set  the  fashion  for  eastern 
cities.  In  this  grand  and  successful  effort,  Mrs.  A.  H.  Hoge 
and  Mrs.  Mary  Livermore  were  leaders.  After  the  war,  Mr. 
Lincoln  presented  medals  to  these  noble  women. 

Six  years  later,  on  October  9,  1871,  came  the  great  fire. 
The  churches  were  open  daily  that  winter  to  feed  the  home- 
less and  to  distribute  clothing  to  thousands  who  had  not  a 
change  of  any  sort.  The  Michigan  Avenue  front  of  the  block 
between  Congress  and  Harrison  streets,  where  my  home 
was,  was  the  boundary  line  of  the  devastation  of  the  "Big 
Fire,"  and  also  of  the  great  fire  of  three  years  later.  I  was 
asked  to  open  my  parlor  as  a  distributing  center  for  new 
clothing  intended  for  those  who  had  been  driven  from 
homes  of  every  comfort,  until  they  should  have  time  to  look 
about  and  in  some  way  provide  for  their  needs.  For  six  weeks 
I  received  and  distributed  clothing,  some  of  my  friends 
coming  in  to  assist  me  —  among  them  our  well-remembered, 
generous-hearted  Jessie  Bross  Lloyd. 1  The  experience  of 
those  weeks  will  never  be  forgotten. 

Among  the  many  memories  of  sixty -four  years  of  social 
pleasures,  of  hospitalities  in  homes  whose  doors  are  forever 
closed,  I  treasure  those  of  that  most  gracious  hostess,  Mrs. 
Norman  B.  Judd,  who  on  account  of  her  husband's  va- 
rious official  positions,  always  entertained  distinguished 
strangers;  of  the  generous  hospitality  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  Y. 
Scammon;  of  the  charming  host  and  hostess,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 

1  Daughter  of  Governor  Bross  and  wife  of  Henry  Demarest  Lloyd. 


86  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

G.  P.  A.  Healy;  of  Dr.  Rutter,  where  we  met  Judge  Stephen 
A.  Douglas,  when  he  first  brought  home  his  beautiful 
bride;  of  the  cordial  and  frequent  entertainments  of  Judge 
and  Mrs.  Skinner,  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  W.  King,  and 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  E.  W.  Blatchford,  will  always  be  delight- 
ful recollections,  as  will  be  the  dignified  home  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  W.  H.  Brown,  where,  with  a  small  company,  we  met 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lincoln,  and  Mr.  Hannibal  Hamlin,  the  Vice- 
President,  just  after  Lincoln's  first  election  to  the  Pres- 
idency. 

Mr.  Lincoln  chanced  to  walk  from  the  dining-room  into 
the  parlor  with  me,  where  we  sat  on  a  sofa  for  a  little  time, 
and  I  remember  my  embarrassment  in  finding  myself  con- 
versing with  one  for  whom  I  already  felt  unbounded  ad- 
miration. His  simplicity  and  cordiality  were  very  apparent. 
I  recall  his  standing  back  to  back  with  Doctor  Robert  W. 
Patterson,  to  see  which  was  the  taller! 

I  remember,  too,  an  interesting  visit  with  Judge  Stephen 
A.  Douglas,  the  political  opponent  of  Mr.  Lincoln.  It  was 
on  the  deck  of  a  Mississippi  steamer  that  he  entertained  a 
little  group  of  us  with  the  recital  of  his  recent  visit  to  Russia, 
where  he  had  been  received  with  distinguished  honors,  be- 
ing invited  by  the  war-Emperor,  .Nicholas  I,  to  review 
with  him  the  Russian  army. 

We  met  General  and  Mrs.  U.  S.  Grant,  soon  after  the  war, 
at  Mrs.  Judd's.  Notwithstanding  the  great  success  that 
had  crowned  his  career,  the  grave  face  and  taciturn  man- 
ners reminded  me  of  the  stories  told  me  in  my  girlhood  of 
Napoleon  by  an  old  man  who  in  his  youth  was  an  English 
sailor,  and  was  on  the  ship  that  carried  Napoleon  to  St. 
Helena.  I  remember  his  picture  of  the  great  Emperor  sitting 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST  87 

immovable  on  the  deck  for  hours  every  day,  with  elbows  on 
his  knees  and  ihead  resting  on  his  hands.  But  this,  as 
Kipling  says,  "is  another  story." 

I  recall  a  gentlemen's  dinner  that  we  gave  when  the 
guests  of  honor  were  Hugh  McCulloch,  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury  under  Lincoln,  and  called  the  "Father  of  the 
Greenback  Currency,"  and  Speaker  Coif  ax,  afterwards 
Vice-President. 

One  evening  at  the  Brown's,  after  the  war,  we  enjoyed  a 
visit  with  Mrs.  John  H.  Kinzie,  author  of  Wau  Bun,  and 
her  daughter,  Mrs.  Gordon  of  Savannah  (Nellie  Kinzie), 
granddaughter  of  John  Kinzie,  Chicago's  first  white  set- 
tler. Mrs.  Gordon  told  us  a  story  of  Sherman's  entry  into 
Savannah,  when  he  was  "Marching  Through  Georgia,"  and 
her  attempt  to  illuminate  her  home,  frustrated  by  other 
members  of  her  family  with  Confederate  sympathies. 

Out  of  the  dim  past  they  come  before  me  —  the  dear 
friends  of  those  early,  golden  days.  In  Memory's  hall,  in 
my  inmost  heart,  I  entertain  them  still. 


VII 

AS   I  REMEMBER  IT 
BY  MRS.  JOSEPH  FREDERICK  WARD 

THE  words  "Old  Chicago"  bring  to  my  mind  a  vision  of 
joy  and  gladness.  The  Chicago  of  my  youth  was  a  green  and 
flowery  place  —  a  place  of  gardens  and  trees  and  birds  and 
grass  and  charming  homes  —  of  sandy  beach  and  dashing 
waves,  with  a  sense  of  youth  and  of  the  beginnings  of 
things  all  about  us. 

The  region  about  the  river  was  always  devoted  to  busi- 
ness —  River  and  Canal  streets,  South  Water  and  all  the 
docks.  Randolph  Street  had  wholesale  places  and  leather 
and  hardware.  Lake  Street  was  our  shopping  street;  there 
T.  B.  Carter,  whose  children  live  among  us,  had  the  first 
dry-goods  store,  and  Henry  Willing,  a  boy  then,  later  mem- 
ber of  the  firm  of  Field,  Leiter  &  Company,  would  carry 
your  packages  home  for  you  on  foot.  The  first  deliveries  by 
wagon  were  considered  very  grand.  There,  later,  Potter 
Palmer  had  a  store,  and  was  always  about  it  himself  — 
would  stop  and  chat  while  you  tried  on  your  new  coat,  and 
would  perhaps  cheapen  the  price. 

On  State,  between  Lake  and  Washington,  was  the  market, 
with  a  red  brick  market-house  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
and  here  on  market  days  would  come  the  farmers  from  the 
prairie  farms,  their  wagons  piled  with  the  marvelous  fruits 
of  the  virgin  soil,  their  wheels  thick  and  clogged  with  that 
same  virgin  soil  which  neither  corduroy  nor  plank  roads 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  89 

could  quite  subdue.  The  Court  House,  standing  where  the 
County  Building  now  does,  was  in  the  center  of  a  green 
square  with  a  high  iron  fence  about  it.  A  number  of  churches 
faced  it  around  the  square  and  the  whole  place  had  a  rather 
reserved  and  solemn  air. 

The  lake  shore  was  a  sandy  beach,  and  at  Van  Buren 
Street  there  was  a  place  where  horses  could  be  driven  in  to 
drink  and  wagon-wheels  could  be  washed.  There  were 
several  places  where  the  young  people  could  rent  rowboats 
to  go  on  the  lake.  When  the  Illinois  Central  Railroad  was 
built,  piles  were  taken  out  of  the  railway  breakwater  and 
patches  of  white  made  to  show  us  where  we  could  go 
through  to  the  open  lake. 

The  streets  of  the  young  city  were  frightful,  with  deep 
mud  and  holes  and  many  places  marked  "No  bottom."  A 
frequent  sight  was  a  cart  stuck  fast  and  abandoned.  I  re- 
member one  such  cart  deeply  imbedded  in  the  mud  just  in 
front  of  McVicker's  Theater.  The  sidewalks  were  of  uneven 
planks,  with  frequent  steps  up  and  down,  but  the  homes 
were  charming,  a  favorite  style  of  architecture  being  a 
square  building  with  a  hall  through  the  middle  and  a  white- 
pillared  veranda.  All  had  gardens  with  fruit  trees,  overflow- 
ing flowers  and  an  abundance  of  shrubbery.  All  had  fences 
and  gates,  I  do  not  know  why,  as  all  our  cows  were  driven 
away  out  to  Twelfth  Street,  were  watched  and  driven  back 
at  night.  We  were  a  very  primitive  people;  we  knew 
everyone  or  at  least  knew  who  they  were;  the  men 
called  each  other  by  their  first  names  and  frequented  the 
family  grocery  of  a  Saturday  night  to  talk  politics  and 
discuss  business.  R.  H.  Countiss'  grocery,  on  the  corner 
of  Clark  and  Van  Buren,  was  a  very  favorite  meeting 


90  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

place.  Mr.  Countiss'  son  has  been,  I  believe,  president 
of  the  Chicago  Stock  Exchange. 

The  churches  were  great  factors  in  social  life.  The  Sun- 
day School  Picnic  and  the  Church  Social  were  events. 
Creeds  and  rules  were  also  of  more  importance  and  more 
rigidly  observed.  For  instance,  little  girls  in  those  days  wore 
pantalets.  These  could  be  embroidered  or  braided  or  hem- 
stitched. They  were  stiffly  starched  and  grandly  flopped 
and  rattled  about  their  white  stockings  and  cross-tied  slip- 
pers. A  great  disturbance  arose  in  the  First  M.  E.  Church 
because  the  minister's  wife  trimmed  her  daughter's  pan- 
talets with  lace,  and  also,  herself,  went  the  length  of  wearing 
a  plain  gold  watch  on  a  black  ribbon.  It  almost  dismem- 
bered the  Church. 

Everyone  even  then  had  a  most  joyous  faith  in  the 
future  of  Chicago,  although  it  was  feared  at  one  time 
that  St.  iCharles,  a  far  older  place,  would  surpass  it 
and  become  the  metropolis  of  the  West.  If  one  possessed 
any  real  estate  at  all,  that  one's  fortune  was  considered 
made. 

When  Washington  Irving  wrote  the  Knickerbocker  His- 
tory oj  New  York,  he  began  at  the  creation  of  the  world  to 
get  a  really  good  start,  and  in  this  little  personal  history  I 
also  will  start  a  little  back  of  my  remembrance. 

In  1835,  my  husband's  father  and  mother  came  west 
from  Massachusetts,  intending  to  invest  here  and  stay,  if 
they  liked  it.  They  were  offered  twenty  acres  within  the 
then  narrow  limits  of  the  city  for  two  thousand  dollars, 
but  the  place  was  such  a  mess  and  medley  of  mud,  shanties, 
and  Indians,  that  they  declined  the  offer  and  returned  to 
live  and  die  in  Massachusetts. 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  91 

That  same  year  a  young  man,1  a  scion  of  the  Governor 
Wentworth  family  of  New  Hampshire  and  a  graduate  of 
Dartmouth  College,  arrived  in  Chicago.  He  had  very  little 
money,  but  in  some  way  became  possessed  of  a  lot  on 
La  Salle  Street  between  Lake  and  Randolph,  built  a  print- 
ing-office, called  it  Jackson  Hall,  and  began  to  publish  a 
daily  paper  which  he  named  the  Chicago  Daily  Democrat. 
He  was  six  feet  six,  or  more,  in  height,  and  was  very  generally 
known  as  "Long  John  Wentworth."  In  1837,  having  been 
elected  to  Congress,  he  wrote  my  father,  David  M.  Bradley, 
then  just  out  of  his  'teens  and  an  old  schoolmate,  to 
come  and  run  the  paper  while  he  went  to  Washington.  My 
father  did  so  and  in  1839  went  back  East,  married,  and 
brought  my  mother  to  Chicago.  They  boarded  at  the  old 
Sauganash  Hotel,  and,  among  other  fellow  guests,  were  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Augustus  Garrett.  Mr.  Garrett  was  at  that  time 
mayor  of  the  town.  I  do  not  know  what  his  business  was, 
but  in  some  way  he  made  the  money  with  which  later  Mrs. 
Garrett  founded  Northwestern's  Theological  School  (Gar- 
rett Biblical  Institute). 

In  1841,  having  then  one  child,  my  eldest  brother,  my 
parents  purchased  a  piece  of  land,  one  hundred  feet  on 
Jackson  Street,  running  through  to  Quincy.  It  was  be- 
tween State  and  Dearborn,  but  Dearborn  at  that  time  was 
only  cut  through  to  Monroe.  Jackson  was  a  fairly  wide 
street,  but  Quincy  was  a  narrow  lane  called  "Printer's 
Alley."  My  mother  declared,  if  she  had  to  live  way  out 
there,  she  did  not  wish  to  turn  her  back  on  the  town.  So 
for  her  benefit  the  lane  was  widened  to  a  street,  and,  hav- 
ing a  great  admiration  for  John  Quincy  Adams,  she  named 

1  Hon.  John  Wentworth. 


92  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

it  Quincy  Street.  After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Charles  Rowe's 
mother,  Mrs.  Samuel  McCarty,  some  of  the  Chicago  pa- 
pers told  of  this  street  naming  as  being  due  to  her.  It  really 
was  my  mother's  achievement,  however.  Mrs.  Rowe's  early 
home  was  on  the  corner  of  Adams  and  State  streets  where 
Peacock's  jewelry  store  now  is.  After  her  father's  death, 
however,  Mrs.  Rowe  and  her  mother  did  live  for  two  years 
in  a  house  belonging  to  my  father,  next  door  to  us. 
There  was  a  little  stream  running  from  Quincy  to  Jack- 
son between  our  place  and  State  Street  —  a  little,  muddy, 
swampy  stream,  and  Mrs.  Rowe  and  I  used  to  wet 
our  feet  and  soil  our  dresses  trying  to  get  the  cattails 
and  blue  flags  that  grew  there.  When  the  high  building 
that  stands  there  now  was  being  built,  they  found  that 
same  little  stream  and  were  obliged  to  build  a  special 
miniature  aqueduct  for  it  before  they  could  put  in  their 
foundations. 

To  return  to  1841  - 

After  my  parents  had  sold  twenty-five  feet  on  Quincy 
Street  in  order  to  have  a  neighbor,  their  home  was  built 
out  on  the  wide  prairie,  the  tall  prairie-grass  waving  all 
about  it,  just  where  the  Lyric  Theatre  now  stands,  and 
just  east  of  the  Great  Northern  Hotel.  It  was  a  lonely 
place  and  when,  after  the  evening  meal,  the  waste  bits 
were  thrown  out  of  the  kitchen  window  the  prairie  wolves 
would  come  under  the  window  and  dispose  of  them. 

When  my  brother  was  two  and  a  half  years  old,  he  was 
lost  one  day,  and  it  being  such  a  wild  place  and  many 
Indians  about,  there  was  great  excitement.  A  friend  on 
horseback,  seeing  the  tall  grass  between  Quincy  and  Jack- 
son, Clark  and  Dearborn  streets  waving  a  little  in  a  long 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  93 

line,  rode  in  and  found  the  child.  The  grass  grew  far  above 
his  head.  All  this  was  scarcely  eighty  years  ago. 

In  1840  Chicago  had  4,479  inhabitants,  almost  all  Amer- 
icans, and  largely  from  the  New  England  states.  I  was 
born  in  1844.  Among  my  earliest  joys  was  visiting  the 
Democrat  office.  Being  in  every  respect  a  genuine,  old- 
fashioned  country  town,  people  sent  my  father,  as  editor  and 
publisher,  everything  from  turkeys  and  big  pumpkins  to 
sofas  and  refrigerators.  On  his  birthday  the  management  of 
the  Tremont  House,  our  best  hotel,  sent  him  his  birthday 
cake  and  we  children  marvelled  at  the  "David  M.  Bradley 
—  Chicago  Daily  Democrat"  in  the  icing.  I  simply  adored 
the  printing-office.  The  paper's  great  Norwegian  engineer, 
Ole  Gulicson,  would  set  me  on  his  shoulder  and  go  about 
oiling  the  one  engine,  singing  meanwhile  Norse  Sagas;  or  I 
was  lifted  high  on  one  of  the  presses,  and  the  great  ink- 
rollers  and  flapping  paper-carriers  lunged  at  me;  or  I 
watched  the  marvelously  quick  hands  setting  type;  or  I 
found  good  company  in  the  office  —  my  father,  of  course,  and 
Mr.  Wentworth  often;  also  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  Owen  Love- 
joy,  Dr.  Evans  (afterward  Governor  Evans),  Orrington  Lunt, 
Dr.  Charles  Dyer,  and  many  another  then  famous  Chicagoan 
whose  name  would  be  meaningless  now.  Mr.  Douglas  being 
very  fond  of  children,  I  often  found  a  seat  on  his  knee.  My 
mother  early  put  a  stop  to  these  joys,  but  I  could  still  swing 
on  the  gate  and  watch  and  count  the  "prairie-schooners," 
or  "Forty-niners,"  go  by  on  State  Street.  Trains  passed  of 
twenty,  thirty,  or  even  forty  of  the  great  ribbed  wagons, 
drawn  sometimes  by  mules,  sometimes  by  horses,  and  some- 
times by  oxen  —  often  a  mother  and  baby  in  the  wagon  and 
a  troop  of  barefoot  boys  and  girls  trudging  beside,  all  cheer- 


94  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

ful  and  full  of  enthusiasm.  "We'll  get  thar,"  "Pike's  Peak 
or  Bust,"  "Reach  it  or  die,"  and  "Plenty  of  gold  in  the 
world  I'm  told  —  on  the  banks  of  the  Sacramento,"  were 
familiar  legends  scrawled  on  the  wagon-covers. 

From  that  same  gate  in  the  cholera  year  I  watched  eight 
funerals  in  one  afternoon  in  half  a  square.  It  was  a  dreadful 
time.  Everyone  left  the  city  who  could,  even  some  of  the  doc- 
tors fled.  Amember  of  our  household,  Miss  Clara  Martin,  hav- 
ing an  errand  at  a  neighbor's,  found  all  the  doors  open  and  the 
lower  rooms  deserted,  and,  hearing  groans  above,  discovered 
there  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  house,  alone  and  desert- 
ed, in  the  agonies  of  cholera.  She  stayed  and  nursed  them 
until  they  were  safe,  and  then  devoted  herself  to  that  work, 
nursing  rich  and  poor  to  their  recovery  or  death,  until  at  last 
she  came  back  to  us  and  was  stricken  herself.  Forbidden  the 
room,  I  climbed  upon  the  arm  of  a  chair  and,  when  the  door 
was  opened  for  the  doctor,  saw  her  lying  there  black  and 
shriveled  like  a  mummy.  She  lived,  however,  and  knew  a 
good  old  age.  Although  the  sanitary  condition  of  the  city 
must  have  been  frightful,  and  I  remember  no  effort  to  im- 
prove it,  the  cholera  finally  left  us. 

Slavery  and  its  conditions  dawned  early  on  our  childish 
minds.  I  must  have  been  five  or  six  when  one  evening,  need- 
ing the  help  of  a  woman  in  the  neighborhood,  my  nurse 
took  me  with  her  on  the  errand.  The  negro  woman,  Aunt 
Charlotte,  had  bought  herself,  one  husband  and  one  son  - 
husband  and  son  were  both  worthless  —  and  she  often  re- 
marked in  the  most  heartfelt  manner:  "  Catch  me  ever  buy- 
ing another  nigger!" 

We  found  her  house  dark,  every  shade  drawn.  "Char- 
lotte can't  be  at  home,"  said  my  nurse.  At  that  the  door 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  95 

was  softly  opened  and  Charlotte's  hand  drew  us  inside. 
The  door  was  shut  and  a  candle  lighted.  There  side  by  side 
on  the  floor  lay  sixteen  of  the  most  wretched  objects  in 
sodden  sleep.  They  were  fugitive  slaves,  caked  with  mud, 
scratched  and  torn  with  briers,  and  showing  through  their 
rags  marks  of  the  most  brutal  ill-treatment. 

"I  sure  thought  you  was  them  catchers  'till  you  spoke," 
whispered  Charlotte,  and,  "Poor  things,  I  must  wake  them 
at  two  in  the  morning  and  start  them  on  their  way." 

I  never  forgot  that  sight.  On  State  Street  not  far  from  us 
lived  a  man  who  had  been  born  free,  and  had  bought  his 
wife's  freedom.  They  were  almost  white,  industrious  and 
happy,  and  had  twin  girls  two  or  three  years  old.  Profes- 
sional slave  catchers  found  out  in  some  way  that  these 
children  had  been  born  less  than  eight  months  after  their 
mother's  freedom.  They  reported  this  to  her  former  master, 
who  immediately  laid  claim  to  them.  One  afternoon  two 
men  in  a  wagon  stopped  at  her  door  and  asked  for  a  drink 
of  water.  As  she  went  into  the  kitchen  to  get  it  she  heard 
a  struggle  and  rushed  back  to  find  they  had  thrown  her 
children  into  the  wagon  and  driven  off.  She  flew  after 
them,  clung  to  the  back  of  the  wagon  and  dragged  her 
children  out.  A  crowd  collected,  the  kidnappers  were  forced 
to  go  for  a  constable  and  a  warrant.  Meanwhile  the  little 
girls  were  put  into  a  rowboat  and  rowed  far  out  into  the 
lake.  A  steamboat  starting  for  Canada  that  night  was  as 
usual  searched  for  fugitive  slaves  before  it  left  its  dock,  but 
it  found  that  little  boat  out  in  the  lake  and  carried  the 
children  to  safety.  Those  same  girls  came  back  after  the 
war,  educated  young  women,  and  taught  successfully  in 
the  Freedmen's  schools.  All  officers  of  the  law  were  by  oath 


96  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

obliged  to  help  return  fugitive  slaves;  all  private  citizens 
were  liable  to  fine  and  imprisonment  if  they  gave  the  latter 
aid.  But  Chicago  was  not  a  good  place  from  which  to  get  a 
slave  returned;  public  sentiment  was  against  it.  The  sheriff 
one  morning  received  a  letter  with  orders  to  arrest  a  woman 
quite  white,  who  was  both  beautiful  and  educated,  who, 
having  been  purchased  by  someone  in  New  Orleans,  had 
run  away.  Ten  minutes  after  receiving  it  he  met  that  girl  in 
the  street  and  recognized  her.  As  he  passed,  he  said :  — 

"Go  at  once  to  such  a  number  on  such  a  street."  It  was 
Dr.  Dyer's  office,  and  he  was  the  head  of  the  "Under- 
ground Railroad"  of  the  State.  A  few  minutes  later  the 
sheriff  met  my  father. 

"Go  to  Dr.  Dyer,"  he  said,  "tell  him  to  have  that  girl 
stain  her  face,  cut  her  hair,  dress  in  boy's  clothes  and  leave 
the  city  inside  of  two  hours  or  I  will  have  to  arrest  her." 

There  was  only  one  reason  for  which  beautiful  slave  girls 
were  sold  in  New  Orleans;  this  girl  was  saved.  You  can 
scarcely  imagine  how  the  facts  of  slavery  filled  our  daily 
lives.  The  papers  had  long  lists  of  advertisements  for 
fugitives,  often  described  as  branded  on  the  hand,  with 
back  showing  recent  whipping,  or  ridged  with  old  marks, 
or  otherwise  giving  evidences  of  ill-treatment. 

Being  a  wooden  city  we  had  many  fires.  Our  fire-engines 
were  pumped  by  hand  and  we  had  a  volunteer  fire  company. 
All  the  sons  of  all  the  best  families  belonged  to  it,  and  ran 
to  the  fires.  Standing  three  or  four  on  each  side,  they  worked 
the  pump,  or  else  did  valiant  things  with  the  hose.  A  fire 
was  almost  a  social  event.  The  first  steam  fire-engine  was  a 
marvel;  it  was  called  the  "Long  John,"  and  I  believe  was 
presented  to  the  city  by  Mr.  Wentworth.  Wise  old  heads 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  97 

were  shaken  over  the  first  paid  firemen.  It  was  prophesied 
that  there  would  be  no  more  enthusiasm,  no  more  heroism. 

We  had  many  Indians  in  those  days.  They  brought  in 
furs  —  for  Chicago  was  quite  a  fur  center  —  also  buffalo 
robes  and  maple  sugar.  There  was  always  a  fringe  of  them 
in  the  back  of  the  church,  and  we  saw  them  constantly 
about  the  streets,  grave  and  silent  in  their  blankets  and 
moccasins.  They  certainly  were  neither  dirty  nor  drunken. 

We  also  had  a  town  crier.  We  met  him  one  night  coming 
along,  a  crowd  of  men  and  boys  about  him,  as  he  rang  his  bell 
and  called,  "Lost!  Lost!  Lost!  Little  girl  seven  years  old!" 
He  frightened  me  almost  to  screaming  when  he  stopped 
us  and  swung  his  lantern  in  my  face  to  see  if  possibly  I  was 
that  little  girl,  and  several  of  the  men  and  boys  scratched 
matches  and  also  took  a  look  at  me. 

Having  weak  eyes,  I  was  not  allowed  to  learn  even  my 
letters  until  I  was  eight  years  old.  Then  I  began  to  attend  a 
school  which  I  cannot  quite  locate.  It  was  so  near  the  lake 
that  the  boys  brought  water  from  the  lake  in  a  pail  and 
passed  it  around  to  us  in  a  tin  dipper,  sometimes  placing  a 
frog  in  the  pail  to  scare  the  girls.  It  was  near  the  river,  for 
at  recess  we  wavered  between  playing  in  the  sand  and  wad- 
ing, or  going  up  to  Fort  Dearborn,  the  blockhouse  of 
which  was  still  standing,  and  talking  to  a  one-legged  sol- 
dier who  always  sat  at  the  door  holding  his  musket.  We 
used  to  bring  him  apples  and  oranges,  but  he  never  said 
anything  to  us  except  that  we  couldn't  go  inside.  From 
this  school  I  went  to  "Sawyer's  Female  Seminary,"  on 
Clark  Street  between  Monroe  and  Madison.  This  was  in  the 
heart  of  the  residence  district.  Emma  Bigelow,  afterwards 
Mrs.  Milton  Wilson,  lived  in  a  very  pleasant  home  just 


98  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

across  the  street,  while  the  Pecks,  Ferdinand  Peck's  family, 
were  two  squares  south.  This  school  was  afterwards  sold 
to  Mr.  Grover,  moved  to  Wabash  Avenue  and  became  the 
Dearborn  Seminary. 

There  was  a  remarkable  singing-school  attached  to  the 
institution,  which  was  housed  in  a  wooden  building  with  a 
Greek  front.  This  school  was  taught  by  a  strange  genius 
named  N.  Dye.  We  practiced  and  performed  wonderful 
cantatas,  to  the  admiration  of  crowded  audiences. 

My  brother  attended  "  Snow's  Garden  City  Institute  for 
Boys."  This  stood  on  Adams  Street  not  far  west  of  State; 
part  of  the  Fair  covers  the  ground  now.  William  Listen 
Brown  and  the  late  Daniel  H.  Burnham  were  fellow- 
students  there. 

We  had  the  primitive  liking  for  grand  names  and 
loved  to  call  our  city  the  "Garden  City."  We  had 
Garden  City  hotels  and  restaurants,  and  banks  and  saloons. 
Later,  people  not  knowing  what  Chicago  was  in  its  youth, 
have  explained  the  name  as  referring  to  the  German  market 
gardens  that  were  afterward  so  numerous.  From  these 
schools  we  went  to  the  High  School  and  had  the  honor  of 
belonging  to  the  first  class  in  the  first  Chicago  High  School 
that  ever  existed.  It  was  on  the  West  Side,  on  Monroe 
Street,  a  few  squares  west  of  the  river.  Madison  Street 
bridge  was  building  and  we  crossed  the  river  on  an  old- 
fashioned  ferry,  with  a  flat  bottom  and  a  post  at  each  end 
through  which  passed  a  rope,  by  which  the  ferryman  pulled 
us  over.  We  found  this  method  of  crossing  delightful.  The 
High  School  gave  us  a  stiff  course  of  three  years.  WTe  grad- 
uated in  great  glory  at  Metropolitan  Hall  at  the  corner  of 
Randolph  and  La  Salle  streets.  There  never  was  a  grander 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  99 

occasion  —  there  never  could  be  a  grander  occasion  than 
that  was  —  the  city  fairly  crowed  over  us.  Three  of  our 
number,  however,  dying  within  six  months  of  various  brain 
troubles,  the  course  was  lengthened  to  four  years  and 
greatly  simplified.  That  ended  my  school  days.  My  brother 
went  East  to  college,  but  we  had  lost  our  father,  and  our 
mother  could  not  be  left  alone.  It  was  a  shocking  case,  to 
begin  school  at  eight  years  old  and  finish  before  fifteen. 
The  women's  clubs  of  to-day  would  have  taken  it  up,  but 
serenely  unconscious  that  anything  dreadful  had  happened, 
I  went  joyously  on,  educating  myself  in  all  sorts  of  ways  with 
all  sorts  of  results.  The  point  is  that  fifty  years  ago  there 
was  nothing  in  Chicago  for  a  girl  after  the  High  School, 
although  for  the  boys  there  was  the  old  Chicago  University, 
which  later  died  a  natural  death  and  was  noted  only  for 
its  telescope. 

The  city  grew  steadily  larger  and  lost  its  charm.  Alas!  it 
was  one  of  those  unfortunates  that  lose  their  beauty  with 
their  first  youth.  Business  pushed  the  homes  back  from  the 
center;  the  old  homes  became  boarding-houses  and  went  to 
seed,  or  had  store-fronts  attached.  People  bought  and  built 
farther  out  and  horse  railways  came  into  being.  Dr.  Dyer, 
whom  I  mentioned  in  connection  with  the  "Underground 
Railroad,"  was  the  first  to  buy  and  build  beyond  Lincoln 
Park,  then  the  city  cemetery.  You  had  to  go  the  whole 
length  of  the  cemetery  to  reach  his  home.  Now,  Dr.  Dyer 
was  a  joker  and  a  free-thinker.  "David,"  he  said  to  my 
father,  "I  know  you  have  often  been  anxious  about  my 
soul.  I  can  assure  you  that  I  have  at  last  secured  a  happy 
home  beyond  the  grave." 

Many  bought  great  estates  and  built  beautiful  homes  in 


100  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

beautiful  grounds;  among  them  the  Clarks,  the  Egans,  the 
Hart  L.  Stewarts,  and  others.  Some  of  these  homes  sur- 
vived for  years,  crowded  among  meaner  houses,  with  a 
dignity  and  charm  all  their  own.  John  Went  worth  owned  a 
great  piece  of  land  extending  southwest  of  Thirty-First 
and  State  streets,  on  which  a  race  course  was  in  operation 
until  after  the  Civil  War. 

Although  primitive,  we  were  not  quite  uncivilized.  We 
had  our  Public  Library,  a  Mechanics'  Institute,  a  Phil- 
harmonic Society  under  the  leadership  of  Hans  Balatka, 
and  always  McVicker's  Theatre.  There  all  the  old  stars 
appeared,  and  little  Mary  McVicker,  as  "little  Eva"  in 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  brought  tears  to  all  eyes.  Mary  was 
afterward  the  wife  of  Edwin  Booth,  the  great  tragedian. 
We  had  many  lecture  courses  and  listened  to  Horace  Gree- 
ley,  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  Bayard  Taylor,  the  incompar- 
able Wendell  Phillips,  John  B.  Gough,  the  great  apostle  of 
temperance,  Susan  B.  Anthony,  and  Mrs.  Lippincott,  bet- 
ter known  as  Grace  Greenwood. 

I  went,  when  perhaps  ten  years  old,  one  night  with  my 
father  to  a  concert  where  besides  Madame  Parodi,  Madame 
Strakosch  and  other  stars,  was  a  little  girl  about  my  own 
age.  She  wore  a  short,  pink  silk  dress  ruffled  to  the  waist, 
and  had  great  black  eyes  and  long  black  braids,  and  sang 
like  a  bird.  It  was  Adelina  Patti.  She  was  a  naughty  little 
girl  and  would  not  sing  at  all  unless  Ole  Bull  led  her  out 
and  stood  by  her  while  she  did  it.  I  have  heard  her  since 
more  than  once,  but  never  enjoyed  her  as  I  did  that  night. 

Before  the  Pacific  Railroad  was  built,  the  city  was 
crowded  with  young  men  —  graduates  of  eastern  Colleges 
and  others,  who  had  come  West  to  make  their  fortunes.  Girls 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  101 

were  in  great  demand  and  went  into  society  far  younger 
than  they  ought.  We  attended  many  a  function  where 
there  were  seven  men  to  every  girl.  As  soon  as  these 
young  men  owned  even  a  small  portion  of  Chicago  real 
estate,  they  considered  their  fortunes  made,  and  were  ready 
to  propose  marriage  on  the  slightest  provocation  —  so 
every  girl  was  a  belle  in  those  days. 

Dwight  L.  Moody  was  a  picturesque  figure  in  the  city. 
I  taught  in  a  Sunday  School  in  which  he  was  interested. 
He  actually  washed  and  dressed  the  children  and  per- 
sonally conducted  them  to  the  school.  Many  of  the  stories 
told  of  him  are  apocryphal,  but  he  really  did  put  his  hand 
on  the  arm  of  a  stranger  going  into  a  basement  saloon, 
and  say,  — 

"My  friend,  you  are  going  straight  to  Hell." 

"Just  my  luck!"  the  man  answered, 

He  did  get  up  in  service  and  announce  that  he  had  just 
become  engaged  to  Miss  Emma  Revell  and  could  not  be 
depended  upon  to  see  the  girls  home  from  meetings  any 
more.  However,  he  developed  as  the  city  did,  and  it  was 
not  many  years  before  that  city  was  building  a  great  tem- 
porary auditorium  to  hold  the  people  who  wished  to  hear 
him  speak. 

The  Ellsworth  Zouaves  were  also  most  picturesque.  They 
were  all,  I  think,  sons  of  good  families,  and  Captain  Ells- 
worth was  a  fine  drill-master,  with  ideas  of  his  own  in 
regard  to  what  a  Zouave  should  wear.  We  all  attended  their 
exhibition  drills,  and  watched  them  go  through  marvelous 
evolutions  in  their  still  more  marvelous  uniforms.  Captain 
Ellsworth  took  them  on  a  grand  tour  through  the 
East  which  was  a  great  success;  the  illustrated  papers  were 


102  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

full  of  their  pictures  and  they  were  admired  and  applauded 
everywhere  they  went.  After  their  return,  one  of  them, 
calling  on  me,  said,  — 

"I  have  a  button  for  you." 

"A  button?"  I  echoed. 

:'Yes,"  he  said,  "the  girls  fought  for  our  buttons  in 
every  city,  but  I  saved  three  for  the  girls  at  home  and  one 
is  for  you."  I  am  afraid  I  was  more  amused  than  appre- 
ciative and  afterward  I  was  glad  I  did  not  accept  the  gift, 
for  he  was  the  only  one  of  them  all  who  did  not  serve  his 
country  when  war  came.  Instead  he  drilled  troops  at  Rich- 
mond for  the  Confederacy. 

The  Republican  Party  came  into  being  while  we  were 
at  High  School,  and  everyone,  Whig  and  Democrat,  who 
was  anti-slavery  joined  it,  and  all  shouted  for  "Fremont 
and  Jessie";  Fremont's  wife,  Jessie  Benton  Fremont,  hav- 
ing taken  a  strong  hold  on  the  popular  fancy.  Of  course,  we 
were  defeated. 

In  1858  came  the  famous  Lincoln  and  Douglas  debates.  I 
heard  both  men,  not  in  debate,  but  on  different  evenings. 
As  I  was  only  fourteen  and  we  were  a  party  of  young  people 
in  Judge  Lemoyne's  office  across  the  way,  what  was  said 
made  little  impression  on  me.  The  crowd  and  torches,  the 
illuminated  balcony  of  the  Tremont  House  from  which 
they  spoke,  the  contrast  in  looks  and  manner  between  the 
men  are  all  that  remain  in  my  memory.  This  was  the  only 
time  I  ever  saw  Mr.  Lincoln  alive. 

In  1860  the  Prince  of  Wales  (the  late  King  Edward 
VII),  then  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  visited  Chicago. 
The  city  simply  went  mad  over  him.  My  sixteen-year-old, 
republican  soul  revolted;  I  was  ashamed  and  I  said  so, 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  103 

that  free-born  Americans  should  make  such  a  fuss  about  a 
commonplace  English  schoolboy.  John  Wentworth  was 
mayor  at  the  time  —  he  had  almost  as  incurable  a  habit  of 
being  mayor  as  Carter  Harrison  —  and  of  course  he  enter- 
tained the  Prince.  When  he  sent  me  a  note  asking  me  to 
make  a  fourth  with  the  Prince,  Mrs.  Wentworth  and  him- 
self, in  a  drive  about  the  city  and  a  reception  afterward  at 
the  Tremont  House,  I  rose  to  a  height  of  consistency  never 
afterward  reached  and  declined  the  honor,  and  thus  lost  my 
first,  last  and  only  opportunity  to  hobnob  with  royalty. 
Afterward  we  had  another  and  different  mayor  and  another 
and  different  visitor.  The  visitor  was  King  Kalakaua  of 
the  Hawaiian  Islands.  He  was  received  with  a  band  of 
music  and  a  speech,  then  this  mayor  said,  — 

"Come  on,  King,  let's  go  up  to  the  Tremont  and  have  a 
wash-up." 

In  those  far  off  years  we  had  great  trouble  with  our 
money.  Our  National  Banking  system  was  not  yet  estab- 
lished and  private  banks  issuing  bank-notes  were  far  from 
reliable.  At  one  time  rent  and  other  debts  were  paid  in 
bundles  of  bills  each  with  a  strap  about  it,  saying  these 
were  worth  eighty-five  cents,  or  sixty-five  cents,  or  even 
less,  on  a  dollar;  it  was  a  mathematical  problem  to  find 
out  if  one  had  the  right  amount.  These  must  be  spent 
quickly  or  they  would  grow  less,  for  the  banks  took  them 
only  at  a  discount,  and  shops  and  stores  had  notices  posted : 

"Wild  Cat  money  taken  only  at  this  morning's  quota- 
tions." 

In  1860  the  Convention  was  held  that  nominated  Abra- 
ham Lincoln.  The  Wigwam  in  which  it  was  held  was  built 
in  rather  rough  fashion  on  the  corner  of  Market  and  Lake 


104  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

streets.  It  was  on  the  third  day  of  the  session  that  my 
mother  and  I  reached  the  door  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. There  were  no  entrance  tickets  and  the  plan  was  to  let  in 
a  small  portion  of  the  crowd,  shut  the  door  and  when  that 
portion  had  gone  up  a  rather  narrow  stairway,  open  it  again 
and  let  in  another  contingent.  Alas!  I  was  let  in  and  my 
mother  was  shut  out;  I  was  forced  up  the  stair  a  little  and 
there  was  small  chance  of  my  finding  her  again  in  the  crowd. 
A  man  named  Peter  Page,  a  rather  prominent  Chicagoan, 
had  charge  of  the  door.  I  saw  that  his  head  was  just  within 
my  reach.  I  hesitated  not  an  instant,  but  beat  a  tattoo  on 
his  shining  silk  hat  with  my  parasol  and  demanded  my 
mother. 

"Let  that  lady's  mother  in,"  he  commanded  the  door- 
keeper, and  she  was  let  in.  The  crowd  took  it  up  outside  and 
long  after  we  were  in  our  seats  we  could  hear  the  shout,  — 

"Let  that  lady's  mother  in!" 

We  found  good  seats,  and  young  and  thoughtless  as  I  was, 
and  amused  and  flushed  by  my  little  adventure,  I  felt  al- 
most at  once  that  it  was  a  serious  and  momentous  occa- 
sion. The  air  was  fairly  electric  with  the  great  questions 
and  the  tremendous  issues  at  stake.  The  preliminaries  had 
been  finished  and  the  platform  accepted  on  the  previous 
days.  The  platform  stated  that  Congress  had  no  right  to 
interfere  with  slavery  in  the  States  where  it  existed,  but 
that  the  Republican  Party  opposed  definitely  its  being 
admitted  into  the  Territories.  The  balloting  began  almost  at 
once.  Men  were  stationed  at  the  skylight  and  down  the  roof 
to  announce  the  votes  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  crowds 
in  the  streets.  At  first  the  favorite  sons  of  different  States  re- 
ceived votes;  then  it  settled  down  to  a  struggle  between 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  105 

Abraham  Lincoln  and  William  H.  Seward.  New  York  and 
her  following  stood  by  Seward  valiantly,  yet  the  votes 
swung  into  place  fast  for  Lincoln.  To  the  very  last,  the  New 
York  chairman's  call  rang  out,  "Seventy  votes  for 
William  H.  Seward;"  and  when  it  became  his  duty  to 
make  the  choice  unanimous,  he  did  it  with  choking  voice 
and  tears  streaming  down  his  face.  The  great  place  rang 
with  cheers  and  outside  pandemonium  reigned,  yet  I  think 
everyone  was  half  joyful  and  half  frightened;  it  was  such  a 
critical  time  that  it  would  not  do  to  make  a  mistake.  The 
nation's  very  existence  might  depend  on  what  was  then 
done.  Many  of  the  best  and  wisest  thought  Mr.  Seward's 
ripe  and  skilled  statesmanship  was  needed,  and  others, 
that  Lincoln  alone  had  the  moral  courage  for  the  time. 
Events  proved  these  latter  to  be  right,  but  Mr.  Lincoln  was 
not  well  known  out  of  his  state;  in  the  East  people  asked, 
"Who  is  Abraham  Lincoln?" 

This  was  my  first  convention,  but  not  my  last;  I  was 
present  at  the  great  scene  in  Crosby's  Opera  House  when 
Grant  was  nominated  by  acclamation.  I  was  in  the  Exposi- 
tion building  when  Conkling  made  his  great  speech  for  a 
third  term  for  Grant,  beginning:  — 

"If  you  ask  me  where  he  hails  from, 

My  answer  can  but  be: 
He  hails  from  Appomatox, 
And  the  famous  apple  tree.*' 

The  applause  was  tremendous,  but  a  few  minutes  later 
he  unfortunately  said:  "Show  me  a  better  man!" 

"James  G.  Elaine!"  shouted  a  man  in  the  gallery. 

The  place  went  mad  with  applause;  Senator  Hoar 
beat  with  his  gavel  and  the  band  played  its  loudest, 


106  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

and  it  was  funny  to  see  the  instruments  move  ap- 
parently soundlessly,  while  the  human  voice  was  all  that 
was  heard.  The  applause  only  ended  with  exhaustion  and 
the  Convention  nominated  neither  Grant  nor  Blaine, 
but  James  A.  Garfield.  I  was  also  present  at  the  Auditor- 
ium when  Benjamin  Harrison  was  nominated. 

But  to  go  back  to  1860  - 

Events  came  fast  after  Lincoln's  election.  We  were  shop- 
ping when  we  heard  of  the  firing  on  Fort  Sumter,  and  the 
news  was  accompanied  with  the  advice  to  buy  cotton-goods 
as  they  would  rise  in  price,  which  they  did  to  an  unheard- 
of  height.  There  were  at  once  many  enlistments  for  three 
months :  that  would,  of  course,  be  long  enough  to  settle  the 
matter.  We  were  at  the  Des  Plaines  Camp  Meeting  when  we 
heard  of  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run,  and  Bishop  Simpson 
preached  such  a  sermon  as  only  times  of  great  disaster  can 
bring  forth. 

After  that  it  was  war  and  nothing  but  war.  Our  friends 
all  enlisted;  we  despised  them  if  they  did  not.  At  first  the 
enlistments  were  for  nine  months  and  then  for  three  years 
or  the  duration  of  the  war.  Chicago  was  a  camp  of  con- 
struction, and  regiments  came  marching  in  from  all  of  the 
States  north  of  us.  Camp  Douglas,  south  of  31st  Street, 
was  thick,  at  first  with  tents,  and  afterwards  with  wooden 
barracks,  and  was  soon  crowded.  J.  J.  Spalding,  whose  fam- 
ily lived  in  Evanston,  raised  a  company  and  was  made 
Captain.  We  with  other  friends  went  to  the  camp  and  gave 
the  company  a  grand  luncheon  and  presented  him  with  a 
sword.  To  other  companies  we  helped  give  flags.  We  went 
on  some  such  errand  to  another  camp  north  of  the  city, 
Wright's  Grove,  I  think,  and  were  the  guests  of  Lieuten- 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  107 

ant-Colonel  Bigelow,  Mrs.  Milton  Wilson's  brother,  and  of 
Captain  Edward  Whitehead,  brother  of  William  H.  White- 
head,  of  Evanston. 

Nothing  was  spoken  of  but  the  war;  nothing  was  done 
except  in  reference  to  it.  We  worked  hard,  scraped  lint, 
tore  and  rolled  bandages,  made  hospital  garments,  tied 
comforters,  knitted  stockings  and  mittens,  put  up  fruit  and 
pickles  and  jelly,  all  for  the  soldiers.  We  held  great  Sanitary 
Commission  Fairs  lasting  a  week,  two  weeks,  or  even  three 
weeks.  One  of  these  fairs  was  in  the  Illinois  Central  Station 
at  Randolph  Street  when  the  building  was  new  and  before 
it  was  used  as  a  station.  It  is  difficult  for  anyone  who  sees 
that  building  nowadays  to  believe  that  it  was  ever  new. 
The  last  of  these  fairs  was  in  session  when  the  war  closed. 
It  was  there  I  first  saw  General  Grant.  He  looked  tired  and 
bored  and  finally  took  refuge  from  the  crowds  that  pressed 
upon  him,  in  the  booth  where  I  was  busy.  We  girls  were  all 
alert ;  we  gave  him  a  chair  and  fanned  him  and  brought  him 
glasses  of  water  and  lemonade.  When  he  finally  recovered 
and  left  us,  he  gave  some  flowers  he  was  carrying  to  one  of 
the  girls  and  she  kindly  divided  them  among  us  —  I  kept 
my  share  for  years. 

But  the  end  of  the  war  was  long  in  coming  and  our  souls 
fainted  within  us.  Men  grew  scant  among  us  and  the  mour- 
ners went  about  the  streets.  You  of  to-day  can  realize  how 
horrible  it  was  to  know  that  the  armies  were  fighting;  to 
know  that  thousands  were  dead  or  dying,  wounded  or 
prisoners.  We  soon  learned  to  wish  our  friends  dead  rather 
than  prisoners.  We  dreaded  to  see  the  papers,  yet  could  not 
rest  until  we  knew  the  latest  news  and  scanned,  with  sink- 
ing hearts,  the  lists  of  dead  and  wounded.  It  was  a  desperate 


108  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

time  and  wrought  in  us  a  desperate  and  passionate  patrio- 
tism. Then  came  the  time  when  George  Root  wrote  war- 
songs,  and  Frank  and  Jules  Lombard  sang  them  on  the 
Court  House  steps,  and  hundreds  enlisted  in  a  day.  Ah, 
those  war-songs!  They  may  seem  trivial  now,  but  they 
meant  much  to  us  then.  There  was  one  with  a  simple  refrain, 
with  a  foolish  little  repetition  in  it :  — 

Brave  boys  are  they, 

Gone  at  their  Country's  call, 
And  yet  —  and  yet,  we  cannot  forget 

That  many  brave  boys  must  fall. 

It  went  sharply  to  our  hearts.  It  was  cruel  to  sing:  — 

We  shall  meet  —  but  we  shall  miss  him, 
There  will  be  one  vacant  chair. 

So  many  families  had  those  vacant  chairs ! 

It  changed  us,  of  course.  No  one  could  live  through  all 
that  and  be  the  same.  It  may  be  that  those  four  years  of 
strain  and  stress  and  horror  are  in  a  measure  responsible  for 
the  nervous  temperaments  of  the  generation  following  us. 

Camp  Douglas  ceased  to  be  a  camp  of  construction  and 
became  a  prison.  We  saw  the  prisoners  march  in,  seven  thou- 
sand of  them,  looking  most  miserable.  They  occupied  the 
barracks  built  for  the  soldiers  and  a  high  board  fence  was 
put  up  to  enclose  the  place.  We  were  very  good  to  those 
prisoners;  we  sent  fruit,  jellies,  and  other  provisions  for 
their  hospital,  and  much  clothing  for  their  wear. 

The  clergymen  of  the  city  took  turns  in  holding  services 
for  them.  One  Sunday,  Dr.  Eddy  (Mrs.  Tallmadge's  father) 
had  preached  and  there  was  much  interest  manifested  by 
his  audience.  He  closed  his  sermon  and  gave  out  a  hymn. 
There  were  no  hymn-books  except  for  the  preacher 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  109 

and  for  the  young  people  who  were  there  to  serve  as  a 
choir,  so  the  custom  was  to  read  a  verse  and  then  sing  it. 
He  read:  "Show  pity,  Lord,  O  Lord,  forgive;"  the  next 
line  was,  "Let  a  repenting  rebel  live."  He  was  quick  enough 
to  read  it,  "Let  a  repenting  sinner  live,"  but  it  was  evident- 
ly familiar,  for  there  was  a  chuckle  and  a  ripple  of  laughter, 
and  every  vestige  of  serious  attention  vanished. 

The  Chicago  preachers  of  Civil  War  times  were  a  band 
of  strong  men;  among  them  were  Matthew  Simpson,  Dr. 
Robert  Patterson,  Dr.  W.  H.  Ryder,  Dr.  T.  M.  Eddy, 
O.  H.  Tiffany,  and  Robert  Collyer.  It  is  a  roll  of  honor. 

It  was,  I  think,  in  1862,  that  we  were  on  the  porch  one 
evening  with  some  friends,  when  a  troop  of  cavalry  turned 
off  State  Street,  came  to  position  in  front  of  our  house,  and 
were  there  put  through  the  manual  of  the  saber,  sharp  and 
quick,  to  be  addressed  in  very  strong  language  by  their 
commander,  after  which  they  turned  about  and  went  jing- 
ling down  State  Street.  A  friend  said,  "I  did  not  know  there 
were  so  many  soldiers  in  the  city,  everything  has  been  rushed 
to  the  front;  there  are  hardly  enough  left  to  guard  the 
prisoners."  We  thought  little  of  it,  and  after  our  friends  left 
us,  we  closed  the  house  and  went  upstairs.  Then  came  a 
ring  at  the  bell  and  a  voice,  "Every  man  go  at  once  to  the 
Armory  and  be  armed,  the  prisoners  are  out  and  armed." 
Our  household  had  no  men.  The  messenger  went  on  his 
errand  down  the  street  and  presently  all  the  men  in  the 
neighborhood  went  hurrying  off  to  the  Armory.  We  changed 
our  thin  summer  dresses  for  dark  walking-suits;  we  gathered 
up  a  few  things  in  hand-bags,  turned  out  the  lights  and  sat 
in  the  dark,  stunned  and  stupid  with  fear,  and  waited. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  volley  of  musketry  —  another  —  a 


110  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

third  —  then  cannon  —  then  all  was  still.  It  seemed  ages 
before  a  neighbor  returning  told  us  what  had  happene'd. 
The  fence-posts  had  been  sawed  beneath  the  ground  in  one 
section  so  that,  with  a  push,  that  part  of  the  stockade  fell. 
The  prisoners  came  forth  in  force,  well-armed  and  in  some 
show  of  order  and  discipline.  To  their  surprise  they  faced 
a  regiment  in  line,  waiting  for  them.  The  rebels  fired;  the 
soldiers  answered;  the  regiment  opened  right  and  left,  dis- 
closing a  battery.  The  prisoners  were  warned  to  retreat; 
they  answered  with  another  volley.  Then  the  cannon  spoke ; 
the  prisoners  threw  down  their  arms  and  fled  back  into  the 
prison  and  all  was  over. 

The  next  day  the  Confederate  officer  who  was  to 
have  taken  charge  was  found  in  a  house  half  a  square 
from  us,  where  it  chanced  my  small  brothers  had  played 
with  the  boys  of  the  family  all  the  day  before.  He 
was  in  woman's  clothes  and  had  not  destroyed  his 
orders  which  were:  to  take  command,  to  burn  the  city,  to 
seize  what  shipping  they  needed,  burn  the  rest,  then  sail 
through  the  Lakes  and  out  the  St.  Lawrence,  doing  all  the 
harm  they  could  by  the  way.  If  they  reached  the  ocean, 
they  were  to  proceed  to  Charleston  or  some  other  port  and 
break  the  blockade.  It  was  a  fine  plot,  except  that  someone 
betrayed  it.  If  Governor  Yates  had  not  been  able  to  rush 
a  regiment  and  a  battery  to  Chicago,  there  seems  to  be  no 
reason  why  the  scheme  should  not  have  succeeded.  A  num- 
ber of  Chicago's  prominent  families,  who  were  responsible 
for  arming  the  prisoners,  left  the  country  that  night  and 
did  not  return  until  the  war  was  ended. 

At  last  came  Lee's  surrender,  closely  followed  by  the 
assassination  of  President  Lincoln.  I  saw  the  sad  proces- 


AS  I   REMEMBER  IT  111 

sion  as  he  was  borne  through  our  streets,  and  every  loyal 
heart  was  filled  with  deepest  grief.  We  went  at  midnight  to 
show  our  respect  for  the  dead,  as  he  lay  in  state  in  the  broad 
hall  of  the  old  Court  House.  There  was  a  curious  silence 
over  the  city;  many  had  chosen  that  same  hour  for  the  sad 
duty.  Softly  we  climbed  the  long  flight  of  steps  and  paused 
where  he  lay  at  rest  from  his  cares  and  sorrows.  General 
Sheridan  stood  at  his  head  and  General  Logan  at  his  feet. 
Many  were  passing,  and  deep  sorrow  was  on  every  face.  As 
we  reached  the  top  of  the  further  steps  we  looked  down  on 
two  or  three  hundred  men  with  torches  and  music-books, 
and  as  we  looked  they  began  to  sing  a  requiem  for  the  dead. 
The  night,  the  men's  voices,  and  the  quiet  dead  made  an 
impression  that  remains  with  me  still. 

We  saw  the  rebel  prisoners  depart  for  their  home,  strong 
and  hearty,  and  much  better  dressed  than  when  they  came. 
Then  our  prisoners  came  home,  some  of  them  from  Ander- 
sonville.  I  hope  you  may  all  be  spared  such  a  sight.  The 
rest  of  our  soldiers  also  returned.  There  had  been  some 
anxiety  as  to  the  result  of  disbanding  at  once  so  large  an 
army,  but,  without  a  ripple,  they  dropped  back  into  their 
places  as  citizens. 

Chicago  grew  —  Irish,  Germans,  and  Scandinavians 
flocked  in.  The  Bohemians  came  and  formed  a  city  of  their 
own.  We  joyously  laid  down  miles  of  wooden  block  pave- 
ment, and  tried  to  adjust  our  levels.  Michigan  and  Wabash 
avenues  and  State  Street  became  level,  but  if  you  stepped 
west  off  State  Street,  you  would  walk  a  few  hundred  feet 
and  go  down  six  steps,  a  little  farther  you  would  go  up  two 
or  three,  and  then  down  again.  It  was  like  New  York's 
famous  sky-line.  Every  man  decided  for  himself  what  the 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

ultimate  level  of  his  street  would  be  and  arranged  his  build- 
ing and  his  wooden  sidewalk  accordingly.  It  was  very  in- 
convenient, especially  in  the  hoop-skirts  which  were  the 
fashion  during  the  war  and  for  years  afterward.  Every 
woman  wore  them,  even  my  little  six-year-old  sister  was 
caged  in  her  tiny  hoop.  The  highest  sidewalk  I  knew  was 
on  Jackson  Boulevard  between  Dearborn  and  Clark  streets 
(about  where  the  Union  League  Club  now  is),  and  is  con- 
nected in  my  mind  with  an  Indian  girl,  the  only  beautiful 
Indian  girl  I  ever  saw.  I  was  walking  on  the  low  side  of  the 
street,  where  the  board  walk  was  level  with  the  roadway, 
and  I  saw  her  coming  toward  me  on  the  high  side  in  her 
moccasins  and  blanket,  with  her  free,  easy  stride.  She  had 
something  she  was  greatly  pleased  with;  she  drew  it  out 
and  smiled  at  it  and  put  it  back  in  her  bosom,  only  to  take 
it  out  and  smile  at  it  again.  A  young  man  passing  held  out 
his  hand  for  it;  she  gave  it  to  him  readily  enough.  It  was 
her  picture  and  he  kissed  it.  I  never  saw  such  a  blaze  of 
wrath.  She  snatched  it  from  him  and,  with  one  swing  of 
her  arm,  sent  him  flying  off  the  edge  of  the  walk  to  fall 
eight  feet  to  the  roadway  below,  while  she  went  her  way 
without  one  look  to  see  where  he  went  or  how  he  fared. 
The  side  toward  the  street  of  these  erections  was  not 
boarded  up,  but  open,  and  papers  drifted  in  and  stray  dogs 
and  cats  and  tramps  made  their  homes  there.  I  suppose  no 
place  was  ever  so  ugly  as  was  a  large  part  of  Chicago  at  that 
period.  The  business  part  in  the  center  of  town  was  built 
chiefly  of  brick  and  stone.  From  State  to  the  lake  and  quite 
far  south  there  were  more  or  less  fine  homes,  many  built  of 
the  white  limestone  which  came  to  be  characteristic  of  Chi- 
cago and  which  we  called  Athens  marble.  Terrace  Row  on 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  113 

Michigan  Avenue,  a  really  fine  block  of  residences,  was  our 
idea  of  true  magnificence.  We  were  very  proud  also  of  our 
Crosby's  Opera  House,  although  it  did  come  to  be  raffled 
off  at  five  dollars  a  ticket.  It  was  there  we  had  our  first  real 
Grand  Opera.  And  there  we  listened  to  wonderful  oratorios 
with  Parepa  Rosa,  Annie  Louise  Carey,  Myron  Whitney, 
and  Brignoli  for  soloists.  The  North  Side,  from  Clark  Street 
to  the  lake  and  down  to  a  few  streets  from  the  river,  was 
full  of  charming  residences,  and  Wabash  as  well  as  Michigan 
Avenue  on  the  South  Side,  was  lined  with  delightful  homes. 
My  husband  and  I  were  boarding  on  Michigan  Avenue 
near  Hubbard  Court  at  the  time  of  the  Fire.  It  was  Sunday 
evening.  We  had  just  returned  from  church.  When  the  fire 
bells  rang  a  friend  said  she  had  never  seen  a  fire,  so  she  and 
her  husband  and  I  and  mine  went  to  watch  the  conflagra- 
tion. It  was  already  a  great  blaze,  and  being  among  old 
wooden  buildings,  it  spread  fast,  a  fierce  wind  from  the 
southwest  carrying  forward  the  flames.  Our  husbands  soon 
hurried  us  home  and  went  back;  we  did  not  see  them  again 
until  daylight.  In  the  meantime  the  waterworks  burned,  the 
gas-works  had  blown  up,  and  half  the  city  was  destroyed.  It 
was  frightful  —  just  the  old  idea  of  the  Day  of  Judgment. 
The  night  was  light  as  day.  The  wind  carried  before  it  great 
blazing  pieces  of  roof,  or  building  paper,  or  shingles;  they 
flew  flaming  through  the  sky.  The  space  inside  our  gate 
was  filled  with  women  and  babies,  and  one  man  badly 
burned,  to  whom  we  carried  food.  The  part  between  the 
sidewalk  and  the  street  was  crowded  with  people,  the  few 
things  they  had  saved  huddled  about  them.  The  sidewalk 
was  also  thronged  with  men  and  women  fleeing  south, 
carrying  whatever  they  could.  One  very  well-dressed  woman 


114  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

dragged  a  trunk  along  by  a  rope  tied  to  a  handle.  An- 
other woman  sat  guarding  her  household  goods  and  we 
saw  an  expressman  drive  up  and  begin  to  load  them  into 
his  wagon;  she  protested  and  we  found  he  was  stealing 
them.  Then  everybody  tried  in  vain  to  help  her,  until  a 
neighbor  with  a  revolver  threatened  to  shoot  the  robber, 
when  he  drove  off  with  what  he  had  already  secured.  We  were 
told  frightful  stories  of  thugs  and  robbers,  and  at  inter- 
vals we  heard  explosions.  The  city  was  under  martial  law, 
and  there  being  absolutely  no  water  after  the  destruction  of 
the  waterworks,  General  Sheridan,  in  command,  was  blow- 
ing up  houses  in  an  attempt  to  stop  the  fire.  The  wind  and 
flame  acted  like  a  blow-pipe;  it  took  just  fifteen  minutes, 
so  fierce  was  the  heat,  and  so  strong  was  the  wind,  to  burn 
to  ashes  a  solidly  built  block  of  brick  and  stone. 

The  people  about  us  began  to  move  south  and  we  were 
told  that  in  ten  minutes  our  block  would  be  in  flames,  — 
but  it  did  not  come  to  that.  The  Wabash  Avenue  M.  E. 
Church  stood  on  the  corner  of  Harrison  and  Wabash. 
Next  to  it  was  a  broad  excavation  for  another  building  and 
a  great  pile  of  sand.  Our  pastor  was  a  stalwart  man.  Gather- 
ing a  group  of  young  men  about  him,  he  began  to  cover 
every  exposed  part  of  the  Church  and  to  smother  every  small 
flame  with  the  sand.  When  General  Sheridan  saw  they  were 
having  some  success,  he  ordered  every  house  for  a  block 
around  blown  up,  and  so  succeeded  in  stopping  the  progress 
of  the  fire  southward.  The  church  was  taken  for  a  post 
office  the  next  day  and  never  saw  another  service. 

On  the  North  Side  all  but  one  dwelling  was  consumed. 
At  last,  late  on  Monday  afternoon,  the  wind  stilled  and 
the  welcome  rain  came  down.  Many  stories  were  told  of 


AS  I  REMEMBER  IT  115 

how  the  people  took  refuge  in  the  tunnels  and  were  almost 
suffocated,  how  others  ran  into  the  lake  as  far  as  they  could 
and  kept  throwing  the  water  over  themselves  to  cool  the 
heat,  until  rescued  by  rowboats  and  carried  out  to  ships 
and  steamers;  how  hundreds  found  refuge  in  Lincoln  Park 
and  little  ones  came  into  the  world  that  night  under  the 
trees  in  the  rain,  who,  but  for  the  Fire,  would  have  been 
born  in  the  lap  of  luxury.  That  night  there  was  no  light  in 
all  the  city.  Our  fathers,  husbands,  and  brothers  patrolled 
the  streets  armed,  while  we  quaked  with  fear  within  doors. 
Tuesday  morning  my  friend  and  I  started  with  some  cloth- 
ing for  a  church  that  was  full  of  the  homeless.  Hearing 
shouts,  we  looked  up  the  street  and  saw  some  people  trying 
to  throw  a  man  out  of  a  fourth-story  window.  We  were  told 
he  was  caught  starting  a  fresh  fire,  but  we  fled  around  the 
next  corner  and  never  knew  what  further  happened. 

There  was  no  credit  for  anyone,  and  it  was  astonishing 
how  little  money  people  had  in  their  pockets.  It  was  nearly 
a  week  before  money  could  be  obtained  from  the  banks. 
We  were  not  allowed  to  use  kerosene  and  there  were  so  few 
shops  left  unburned  and  so  few  candles  in  them  that  only 
four  could  be  sold  to  one  person.  Our  only  water  was 
brought  in  barrels  from  the  lake. 

When  the  vaults  of  the  banks  were  opened,  after  four 
days'  cooling,  a  large  part  of  the  bank-notes  were  found 
baked  to  a  brown  crisp.  These  were  sent  to  Washington, 
where  experts  estimated  their  value  and  sent  back  new 
bills. 

The  Horse  Railway  Company  had  built  a  new  car-barn 
near  22nd  and  State  streets.  It  had  never  been  used,  and 
there  Field  and  Leiter  opened  a  store.  Mandel  had  a  small 


116  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

establishment  on  22nd  Street,  but  no  one  bought  anything 
except  to  make  clothing  for  the  sufferers.  All  the  world 
rushed  to  our  relief.  Tents  and,  afterward,  rows  of  wooden 
cabins  were  hastily  put  up;  everything  was  done  by  wide- 
spread charity  and  sympathy.  It  is  true  that  St.  Louis, 
Milwaukee,  and  other  cities  shouted  aloud  and  printed  in 
their  newspapers  that  this  was  their  opportunity  to  take 
to  themselves  Chicago's  trade,  but  these  were  exceptions. 

It  was  a  strange  winter.  When  we  looked  across  the  ruins 
and  counted  our  losses,  everyone  joked;  it  was  so  great 
and  universal  a  disaster,  there  was  no  other  way  to  bear  it. 
There  were  calico  balls  and  all  sorts  of  entertainments,  all 
for  the  benefit  of  the  relief  and  aid  societies.  I  heard  Ole 
Bull  play  in  a  hall  on  22nd  Street  where  the  stage 
alone  was  lighted,  and  that  with  candles.  It  was  a 
blessing  to  hear  Ole  Bull  under  any  circumstances.  With 
his  grand  figure,  his  noble  head  and  beautiful  white  hair, 
he  came  forward,  gave  us  a  bow  of  old-fashioned  courtesy 
and  a  benign  smile,  lifted  his  violin  to  his  shoulder,  laid 
his  cheek  against  it,  closed  his  eyes  and  filled  the  world 
with  music. 

I  heard  Charlotte  Cushman  read  Henry  the  Eighth  with 
much  the  same  scheme  of  lighting.  However,  we  soon  had 
gas  and  water  once  more,  and  life  began  to  be  less  strange 
to  us. 

The  work  of  clearing  away  and  rebuilding  was  under- 
taken with  great  vigor  and  much  good  cheer.  With  that  re- 
building my  tale  ends.  Old  Chicago  passed  in  that  smoke 
and  flame  and  on  the  wings  of  that  mighty  wind,  and  it 
exists  now  only  in  the  memories  and  hearts  of  those  who 
loved  her. 


VIII 

LONG  AGO 
BY  MARY  DRUMMOND 

As  a  foreword  to  my  personal  knowledge  of  Chicago,  a  few 
extracts  from  a  letter  from  my  father,  Thomas  Drummond,1 
to  his  father  in  Maine,  may  be  of  interest.  At  the  time  the 
letter  was  written  he  was  twenty -four  years  of  age,  and  had 
recently  been  admitted  to  the  Philadelphia  bar.  The  letter 
is  dated  Chicago,  May,  1835,  at  which  time  he  spent  a 
week  in  the  city  which  later  was  to  be  home.  He  was  stay- 
ing at  the  old  Sauganash  Hotel,  near  Market  and  Lake 
streets,  kept  by  Mark  Beaubien.  He  speaks  of  it  as  "the 
best  hotel  in  the  place,  with  prices  equal  to  the  New  York 
and  Philadelphia  hotels,  but  frequently  destitute  of  beef, 
butter,  and  milk." 

He  writes  of  the  "young  Giant  of  the  West,"  and  of  the 
unparalleled  rapidity  of  Chicago's  growth :  — 

"Two  years  ago  there  were  but  forty  inhabitants;  and 
now  it  contains  a  population  of  nearly  or  quite  three 
thousand.  It  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  real  estate,  to 
the  value  of  forty  or  fifty  thousand  dollars,  to  be  sold 
in  one  day.  Lots  that  last  fall  could  be  bought  for  a 
thousand  dollars,  cannot  now  be  purchased  for  seven 
times  that  amount." 

1  Judge  Thomas  Drummond,  one  of  Chicago's  most  distinguished  jurists.— 
Editor. 


118  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

In  speaking  of  the  buildings  he  writes :  - 

"The  main  object  seems  to  be  to  erect  a  house  or  store, 
but  of  what  kind  is  a  matter  of  small  consequence.  Most  of 
the  buildings  are  therefore  of  wood  and  put  up  in  the 
slightest  possible  manner.  .  .  .  The  river,  though  narrow, 
is  deep,  except  at  the  mouth,  where  there  is  quite  a  bar 
formed  by  the  washing  in  of  the  sand,  and  where  they  are 
now  building  piers  which  are  to  remove  it,  and  Chicago 
will  then  have  a  fine  harbor." 

His  first  experience  with  Indians  seems  to  have  left  a 
most  unpleasant  impression  on  his  mind,  for  he  writes :  — 

"There  is  a  large  number  of  Indians  encamped  in  and 
about  the  town  and  arrangements  are  being  made  to  re- 
move them  beyond  the  Mississippi,  several  agents  of  the 
general  government  being  here  for  that  purpose.  The  tribe, 
or  such  as  I  have  seen,  probably  one  hundred  or  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty,  are  ill-featured,  ill-formed,  and  there  is 
nothing  noble  about  them.  Their  love  for  whisky  seems  in- 
curable. Last  Sunday  morning  they  found  a  cask  in  the 
street,  broke  it  open,  and,  with  scarcely  one  exception,  got 
drunk.  They  cut  a  curious  figure  in  the  street,  many  of 
them  naked  or  with  a  piece  of  cloth  around  the  loins.  In 
walking  out  towards  night,  in  the  company  of  a  gentleman, 
we  found  one  of  the  poor  wretches  lying  in  the  water,  noth- 
ing but  his  head  out  —  and  that  in  the  mud.  A  large  num- 
ber of  men  were  sitting  around,  apparently  regardless  of  his 
situation;  even  his  wife,  when  we  pointed  out  his  perilous 
position,  only  smiled.  I  took  hold  of  him  and  awoke  him, 
for  he  was  sound  asleep.  Having  recovered  a  little  from  his 


LONG  AGO  119 

drunkenness,  he  succeeded  in  getting  up.  When  he  came 
up  the  bank  he  was  saluted  by  a  laugh  from  his  friends.  He 
staggered  along  to  a  fire  which  was  near  and  sat  down.  He 
was  as  miserable  a  spectacle  as  you  can  conceive;  the  idiocy 
of  drunkenness  in  his  face,  which  was,  besides,  covered  with 
mud.  He  took  off  his  shirt,  which  was  wet  and  dirty,  and 
his  wife  went  quietly,  picked  it  up  and  carried  it  to  the 
river  and  washed  it.  This  same  wife  had  an  infant  in  her 
lap  and,  though  so  careless  about  its  father,  seemed  to  mani- 
fest all  of  a  mother's  love  for  her  child.  Many  of  these 
Indians  appear  to  be  rich,  most  of  them  have  horses,  and 
many  are  very  gaudily  apparelled,  but  altogether,  I  cannot 
look  upon  them  with  anything  but  disgust." 

In  speaking  of  the  natives  of  Chicago  in  the  early  days, 
he  says :  — 

"The  tone  of  moral  sentiment  among  the  great  mass  of 
the  people  seems  to  be  lamentably  low.  I  have  been  intro- 
duced to  many  professional  men,  and  most  of  them  are 
shockingly  profane.  They  are  great  card  players.  The  other 
evening  at  the  hotel  there  were  no  less  than  three  whist 
tables  in  the  common  sitting-room,  though  I  did  not  notice 
that  there  was  any  gambling.  There  is  much  frankness  of 
manner  certainly,  but  little  or  no  polish.  Their  knowledge 
of  books  is  small,  conversation,  in  which  they  excel,  being 
their  principal  talent.  Their  tremendous  profanity  I  dis- 
like very  much.  It  is  so  unusual  to  hear  a  gentleman  in 
the  East  do  more  than  swear  a  little.  Here  it  appears  to  be 
an  admitted  point  that  there  must  be  an  oath  to  every  sen- 
tence, and  the  more  far-fetched  and  strong,  the  better. 

"There  are  few  women  compared  to  the  men,  and  it 


120  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

seems  to  be  understood  that  a  man  must  go  East  to  get 
married.  This  has  long  been  a  military  post,1  and  the  gar- 
rison grounds  are  prettily  situated.  I  have  become  acquaint- 
ed with  some  of  the  officers,  who  appear  to  be  agreeable 
men.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  obtain  servants  here,  and 
the  wife  of  the  man  who  keeps  the  house  where  I  lodge  is 
obliged  to  clean  the  floors  and  make  the  beds  herself,  and 
the  landlord  attends  to  us  at  the  table;  which  would  be  con- 
sidered a  great  hardship  by  a  landlord  or  landlady  at  one  of 
our  city  hotels  in  the  East. 

"The  temperance  reformation  has  not  effected  much 
here  in  the  West,  at  least  in  this  part  of  it.  Brandy  and 
whiskey  are  set  upon  our  table  every  day  at  dinner,  and 
it  is  as  much  a  matter  of  course  to  ask  a  friend  to  drink  a 
glass  for  old  acquaintance'  sake  as  it  once  was  in  the  East. 
I  saw  no  glasses  of  brandy  upon  the  dinner-table  until  after 
I  passed  Utica.  Since  then  it  is  universal  at  all  hotels  where 
I  have  stopped.  There  is  a  scene  passing  in  the  room  ad- 
joining mine  which  is  characteristic  of  the  country:  Three 
gentlemen  are  there  drinking  champagne  and  telling  stories, 
and  every  now  and  then  a  round  oath  falls  upon  my  ears. 
Though  the  swearing  seems  to  be  confined  to  one,  yet  he 
makes  up  for  the  deficiency  of  all  the  rest.  And  this  much 
for  western  men  and  manners!" 

My  father,  being  appointed  Federal  Judge  in  1850,  found 
it  necessary  to  remove  his  family  from  Galena  to  Chicago 
in  1854.  Thus  it  happened  that  in  September  of  that  year 
a  very  youthful  and  unnoticed  personage,  aged  eight,  be- 

1  Fort  Dearborn  was  built  in  1804;  destroyed  by  Indians  on  August  16,  1812; 
rebuilt  in  1816;  and  was  finally  demolished  in  1856.  —  Editor. 


LONG  AGO  121 

came  a  resident  of  the  "Giant  of  the  West."  My  father 
took  us  to  the  old  Lake  House,  which  stood  by  the  river  on 
Rush  Street,  and  with  this  hotel  are  associated  my  first 
recollections  as  a  resident  of  Chicago.  It  is  a  bit  humilia- 
ting to  remember  that  on  our  arrival,  our  great  city  made 
no  impression  on  my  mind,  while  the  good  crackers  and 
milk  for  our  tea,  the  playing  on  the  floor  in  Mrs.  Henry 
Farnham's  room,  and  the  fact  that  Georgie  Kinzie,  having 
injured  something  in  the  large  parlors,  was  not  allowed  to 
play  there  with  the  other  children,  are  the  only  incidents 
which  are  firmly  fixed  in  my  memory. 

We  soon  moved  to  a  little  frame  house  on  Wolcott  Street 
(now  North  State  Street),  between  Erie  and  Huron  streets. 
There  was  no  other  house  in  that  block  on  Wolcott  Street 
except  a  tiny  cottage,  inhabited  by  a  kindly  Irish  washer- 
woman, Mrs.  Dorsey,  and  her  two  little  girls,  with  whom  I 
became  great  friends.  Often  of  late  years,  as  I  wait  for  the 
State  Street  cars  on  that  corner,  I  try  to  picture  it  as  it 
was  sixty-five  years  ago,  when  it  was  a  vacant  lot  sur- 
rounded by  a  board  fence;  and  it  comes  vividly  before  me 
as  it  looked  in  that  snowy  winter  of  '54  and  '55,  with  the 
drifts  piled  to  the  top  of  the  fence.  I  think  it  remained  a 
vacant  lot  until  after  the  Fire,  and  was  used  as  a  croquet 
ground  where  many  a  battle  royal  was  fought  out  among 
the  champions  of  that  decade,  Kitty  Goodrich  and  Will 
Scudder  ranking  high  on  the  list  of  players.  Vacant  lots 
were  common  in  those  days,  and  many  were  the  cross-cuts 
we  children  took  in  walks  and  runs. 

The  next  year  we  moved  to  Dearborn  Street,  remaining 
on  the  same  square,  and  so  it  happened  that  my  home  life 
in  Chicago  was  spent  on  the  block  bounded  by  Erie  and 


122  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Huron,  Wolcott  and  Dearborn  streets.  In  our  early  years 
our  daily  horizon  is  apt  to  be  exceedingly  circumscribed; 
add  to  that  the  fact  that  our  own  feet,  and  those  of  our 
good  friends,  the  horses,  were  our  only  means  of  transporta- 
tion, and  it  is  easily  seen  that  of  necessity  my  childish 
memories  are  largely  limited  to  the  North  Side. 

On  the  South  Side  we  did  not  often  go  beyond  Madison 
Street.  Lake  Street  was  our  shopping  street,  Palmer's 1  hose 
and  jewelry  store,  the  grandeur  of  "Ross  and  Gossage, " 
with  its  black  lions  guarding  the  entrance  west  of  Clark 
Street,  and  almost  all  the  other  retail  stores  of  those  days 
being  found  there.  Many  south-side  families,  the  Judge 
Mark  Skinners,  the  Dr.  David  Rutters,  the  J.  Y.  Scam- 
mons,  the  Highs,  Chapins,  Clarks,  Brosses,  Carters,  Bent- 
leys,  Dickeys,  Farnhams,  Fleetwoods,  Blackwells,  and  nu- 
merous others,  were  household  names,  but  it  seemed  a  long 
way  to  their  homes.  Trinity  Church,  on  Jackson  Street,  was 
"miles  away,"  and  when  James  Bowen,  whose  daughter 
Jennie  was  my  schoolmate  and  friend,  moved  to  Twelfth 
Street,  we  almost  felt  it  an  eternal  farewell. 

The  North  Side  was  "home,"  and  a  lovely,  homelike 
place  it  was.  The  large  grounds,  and  beautiful  shade-trees 
about  so  many  residences  gave  a  sense  of  space,  rest,  flow- 
ers, sunshine  and  shadows,  that  hardly  belongs  nowadays 
to  the  idea  of  a  city.  There  was  great  friendliness,  and  much 
simple,  charming  living.  While  in  new  places  the  propor- 
tion of  scholarly  and  professional  men  and  cultivated  wom- 
en is  generally  not  so  large  as  in  older  cities,  in  early  Chi- 
cago it  was  greater  than  usual.  The  more  ambitious  and 
energetic  among  eastern  young  men  of  the  first  half  of  the 

1  Potter  Palmer. 


LONG  AGO  123 

Nineteenth  Century  were  keen  to  move  to  what  was  the 
"out  west"  of  their  generation. 

Some  of  the  homes  stand  out  clearly  in  my  mind.  On 
Michigan  Street  (now  Austin  Avenue)  and  Cass  Street, 
across  from  the  old  St.  James's  Church,  of  which  they  were 
stanch  supporters,  was  the  homelike  place  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
John  H.  Kinzie  —  a  low  house  with  pleasant  rooms,  standing 
in  a  large  yard,  with  many  trees  scattered  here  and  there. 
On  the  porch  of  this  old  house  Mrs.  Erskine,  the  little 
'Tinie  DeWolf "  of  those  days,  remembers  being  swung  in 
the  hammock  one  day  by  Arthur  Kinzie,  when  she  caught 
sight  of  a  company  of  Indians  coming  through  the  gate.  She 
screamed  and  ran  to  bury  her  face  in  Mrs.  Kinzie's  lap, 
but  found  her  quite  undisturbed  by  this  not  uncommon 
occurrence. 

Many  were  the  pleasant  meetings  in  the  parlors  of  the 
"Kinzie  House,"  when  Mrs.  Kinzie  at  the  piano,  and  Mr. 
Kinzie  with  his  violin,  would  play  for  their  guests  to  dance. 
I  can  remember  a  cap  of  Mrs.  Kinzie's  with  pink  ribbons, 
which  appealed  to  my  childish  taste,  and  how  I  tried  to 
induce  my  mother,  a  much  younger  woman,  not  yet  forty, 
to  wear  pink  ribbons ! 

Old  St.  James's  Church  across  the  street,  was  a  brick 
building  with  a  square  tower,  square  pews  in  the  galleries, 
and  four  large  square  pews  with  tables  in  the  center  for 
books,  in  the  rear  of  the  church.  Ours  was  one  of  the  gallery 
pews  and  we  little  people,  sitting  on  small  chairs  in  the  front 
of  the  pew,  found  it  a  most  interesting  place,  as  we  had  a 
fine  view  of  the  congregation.  The  Sunday  School  was  in 
the  basement,  and  I  well  remember  being  taken  there  with 
my  sisters,  who  were  to  be  put  in  Mrs.  Kinzie's  class,  while 


124  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

I  belonged  in  Mrs.  George  W.  Dole's  infant  class.  From 
the  Sunday  School  we  had  to  go  outdoors  to  reach  the 
church,  and  one  rainy  Sunday,  Mary  Newberry, l  who  was 
a  veritable  goody-two-shoes  that  day  with  her  new  shoes, 
refused  to  expose  her  treasures  to  the  wet.  So  down  she 
sat  on  the  steps  and  took  them  off,  trotting  up  to  the 
church  as  a  barefoot  girl.  Dr.  Robert  H.  Clarkson, 2  the  well- 
beloved  rector  of  this  church  for  so  many  years,  with  his 
poetic  nature,  warm  sympathy,  and  keen  sense  of  humor, 
can  never  be  forgotten  by  the  large  circle  in  and  out  of  his 
own  church,  who  loved  and  honored  him. 

Not  far  from  the  river  also  lived  Edward  K.  Rogers,  and 
Judge  Grant  Goodrich;  and  on  Indiana  Street  (now  Grand 
Avenue)  were  many  pleasant  homes,  among  them  those 
of  George  B.  Carpenter  and  Mr.  Hathaway.  Over  be- 
tween Clark,  Illinois,  Dearborn  and  Indiana  streets, 
stood  the  old  North  Side  Market,  where  the  men  of  the 
families  often  took  their  market-baskets  in  the  morning, 
while  the  "virtuous  woman"  stayed  at  home  and  "looked 
well  to  the  ways  of  her  household."  A  pleasant  place  was  the 
old  market,  with  the  big  doors  opening  to  north  and  south, 
and  with  stalls  on  either  side,  where  meat  and  fish  and  crisp, 
fresh  vegetables  and  fruit  were  displayed.  To-day  South 
Water  Street  offers  more  variety,  but  the  old  market,  clean 
and  cool  and  roomy,  was  far  more  tempting.  On  the  corner 
of  Ontario  and  Clark  streets  stood  the  brick  house  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  William  F.  DeWolf ,  with  a  broad  flight  of  steps 
leading  up  to  a  pillared  porch,  a  style  repeated  in  Mrs. 

1  A  daughter  of  Walter  L.  Newberry,  whose  fortune  founded  the  Newberry 
Library. 

2  Afterwards  Episcopal  Bishop  of  Nebraska. 


LONG  AGO  125 

Dodge's  white  frame  house  (afterwards  the  home  of  W.  H. 
Bradley),  on  Ontario  and  Wolcott  streets. 

On  Ontario  and  Dearborn  streets  stood  the  Arnold  cot- 
tage, occupied  by  Isaac  N.  Arnold  and  his  family  until  they 
moved  to  Erie  and  Pine  streets,  the  family  home  until 
1914.  After  the  Arnolds  moved  from  Ontario  Street,  the 
cottage  was  occupied  by  Samuel  H.  Kerfoot  and  family, 
who  moved  from  Maryland  to  Chicago  in  1849,  going  first  to 
the  Sherman  House  and  afterwards  living  on  or  about  Ohio 
and  Ontario  streets.  In  1856  they  moved  north  to  their 
well-known  place  "  Dawn,"  in  what  was  then  known  as  Lake 
View.  This  residence  was  the  scene  of  many  good  times, 
as  were  also  the  homes  of  John  Valentine  LeMoyne  and 
Dr.  Charles  Dyer,  north  of  the  city,  and  of  Thomas  B. 
Bryan  at  Cottage  Hill,  now  Elmhurst. 

Miss  Alice  Kerfoot  remembers  how,  in  her  childhood 
days,  General  "Joe"  Stockton  and  his  companions  would 
put  an  organ  on  a  hand-cart  and  "go  serenading,"  and 
also,  how  they  would  get  a  big  bob-sled  and  drive  from 
house  to  house  picking  up  "the  girls,"  giving  them  no 
time  to  "prink,"  and  then  drive  out  to  "Dawn"  for  a 
dance;  and  how  one  night  a  heavy  rain  came  up  and  carried 
off  the  snow.  One  of  the  bob-sled  horses  had  to  be  saddled 
and  ridden  to  the  nearest  livery  stable  four  miles  away  to 
fetch  the  town  "hacks"  to  convey  the  guests  to  their  vari- 
ous homes.  The  company  had  breakfast  at  the  Kerfoots',  as 
candles  and  lamps  flickered  yellow  in  the  light  of  the  coming 
day,  after  which  the  party  drove  down  through  what  is  now 
Lincoln  Park  and  was  then  a  dripping,  sodden,  melancholy 
cemetery.  It  was  indeed  a  long  journey  from  "Dawn"  to 
daylight  when  the  weary  revellers  reached  town! 


126  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Miss  Kerfoot  also  tells  a  story,  learned  from  her  father, 
of  a  basket-picnic  on  July  4,  1849,  which  was  considered 
then  a  great  expedition  into  the  wilds.  Mr.  Kerfoot  and  Dr. 
Swope,  then  Rector  of  Trinity  Church,  being  the  best 
horsemen  of  the  company,  headed  a  procession  of  citizens 
from  the  Sherman  House,  marching  to  "the  woods"  on 
the  North  Side,  said  woods  being  where  the  Cyrus  H.  Mc- 
Cormick  and  Isaac  N.  Arnold  houses  afterward  stood,  on 
the  block  now  bounded  by  Rush,  Huron,  Erie  streets  and 
North  Michigan  Avenue. 

Between  Ohio  and  Ontario,  North  State  and  Cass  streets, 
stood,  in  the  center  of  the  block,  the  brick  gabled  house 
of  H.  H.  Magie,  father  of  Mrs.  Lambert  Tree,  grand- 
father of  Arthur  Tree  and  great-grandfather  of  Ronald 
Tree.  The  house  was  full  of  beautiful  things  brought  from 
abroad,  among  which  was  the  celebrated  "Nydia,"  by  Ball. 
Back  of  the  residence  were  many  currant  and  gooseberry 
bushes,  which  made  an  impression  on  my  mind.  Directly 
north,  on  the  corner  of  North  State  and  Ontario  streets,  sur- 
rounded by  large  trees,  stood  the  low,  brown  cottage  of  the 
George  B.  Meekers  and  Mr.  Meeker 's  sister,  Mrs.  Scudder, 
and  a  block  east,  between  Ontario  and  Erie,  Cass  and  Rush 
streets,  stood  the  charming  home  of  William  B.  Ogden  and  his 
brother-in-law  and  sister,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edwin  H.  Sheldon. 
This  was  a  large,  white  frame  dwelling,  surrounded  by  fine 
trees.  The  rooms  were  spacious  and  delightful,  the  dining- 
room,  with  its  windows  opening  on  three  sides,  being  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  rooms  in  Chicago.  In  early  days  Mr. 
Ogden's  housekeeper,  Mary  (afterwards  Mrs.  Henry  Wisch- 
myer),  was  a  local  celebrity,  and  few  were  the  north-side 
people  she  did  not  know.  Her  tea-biscuits  were  renowned, 


LONG  AGO  127 

and  her  invitations  to  "help  yourself  often"  were  rarely 
refused. 

In  the  large  parlors  of  this  pleasant  home  one  night  in 
the  sixties,  a  clever  little  performance  caused  much  enter- 
tainment, both  to  actors  and  audience.  Not  the  least  of  the 
fun  was  the  program.  The  "Grand  Opera,"  The  Lovers,  was 
presented  for  positively  one  night  only,  with  Signorina 
Eleanora  Wheeleretta  (afterwards  Mrs.  A.  C.  McClurg, 
mother  of  Ogden  McClurg),  the  "famed  cantatrice,  whose 
recent  triumphs  have  set  all  Europe  in  a  furore,"  as  prima 
donna,  and  Signor  Guglielmo  Emersonio  Strongini  (Gen- 
eral William  E.  Strong),  as  Prince  Almanzor.  The  other 
parts  were  taken  by  Fraulein  von  Schneidau,  Signora  Drum- 
mondini,  Signor  Giacomo  Kelletto  (James  Kelly) ;  Signor 
Samuellino  Jonstonio  (Sam  Johnston) ;  Signori  Enrico  De- 
Wolfo  and  Edwino  Sheldoni  (Henry  DeWolf  and  Edwin 
Sheldon).  "The  management,"  we  are  told,  "takes  plea- 
sure in  announcing  that  the  remarkably  large  chorus  is  in 
perfect  order,  and  the  costumes  have  been  imported  espe- 
cially for  this  occasion."  Also  that  "the  management  has 
with  the  utmost  difficulty  secured  the  services  of  the  re- 
nowned Directeur  Musical,  Carlo  lones"-  —this  "renowned 
directeur"  being  Caroline  Ogden  Jones,  to  whose  bright 
mind  and  musical  knowledge  was  largely  due  the  enter- 
taining little  "opera." 

A  member  of  this  household  from  her  early  girlhood  un- 
til her  marriage  to  Eugene  Jerome  of  New  York  in  1867, 
was  Pauline  von  Schneidau,  probably  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful girls  Chicago  has  ever  known.  Her  father,  who  belonged 
to  a  noble  Swedish  family,  came  here  with  his  wife  from 
Wisconsin  in  1844.  Mr.  von  Schneidau,  owing  to  pressure  of 


128  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

circumstances,  became  a  daguerreotype  artist,  —  I  think 
the  first  in  Chicago,  —  and  some  of  his  old  pictures  still 
remain  to  show  his  skill.  His  wife  dying  in  1855,  the  little 
Pauline  became  a  member  of  the  home  of  those  good  and 
kindly  friends  of  her  father,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  W. 
Dole.  Afterwards,  just  before  her  father's  death  in  1859, 
she  moved  to  the  home  of  William  B.  Ogden,  Chicago's 
first  mayor. 

Another  beautiful  girl,  Rose  Howe,  was  often,  with  her 
young  sister,  "Frank,"  a  guest  of  some  of  the  old  families, 
the  Arnolds,  DeWolfs,  Scammons,  and  Ogdens.  They  were 
daughters  of  Francis  Howe.  Their  mother,  a  highly  edu- 
cated woman,  was  a  descendant  of  a  French  grandfather 
and  a  French  and  Indian  grandmother,  which  romantic 
circumstance,  added  to  the  fact  that  the  elder  daughter  so 
strongly  resembled  Faed's  picture,  Evangeline,  made  them 
most  interesting  personalities  to  us  all. 

East  of  the  Ogden  house,  between  Rush  and  Pine,  On- 
tario and  Erie  streets,  stood  the  brownstone  house  of  Wal- 
ter L.  Newberry,  whose  fortune  founded  the  reference 
library  that  now  bears  his  name.  The  Newberry  residence 
was  placed  on  the  southeast  corner  of  the  lot,  and,  oddly 
enough,  after  the  Fire  the  ground  on  this  corner  was  never 
broken  for  building  until  the  erection  of  the  little  shops 
now  occupying  it.  On  the  northern  part  of  the  square  was 
the  garden,  and  here  grew  yellow  roses  and  fragrant 
Madonna  lilies.  As  this  family  was  one  of  the  few  that 
often  visited  Europe,  the  house  held  many  lovely  things, 
but  nothing  more  beautiful  than  G.  P.  A.  Healy's  por- 
traits of  the  two  daughters  of  the  family  —  Mary,  with 
her  dancing  blue  eyes,  fair  hair,  and  face  so  full  of  vivac- 


LONG  AGO  129 

ity;  and  Julia,  with  her  dark  hair  and  splendid  gray  eyes. 
The  loss  of  these  pictures  in  the  fire  of  1871,  particularly 
the  one  of  the  younger  daughter,  attired  in  a  simple  white 
dress,  with  a  string  of  bright  red  beads  about  her  neck, 
is  something  I  often  mourn,  as  I  also  do,  the  beautiful 
portrait  of  Edwin  H.  Sheldon  with  his  children,  "Ed  and 
Fanny,"  (the  latter  the  late  Mrs.  William  Fitzhugh  White- 
house)  . 

Anent  the  question  of  going  abroad,  I  remember  a  story 
once  jestingly  told  of  a  party  at  the  Newberrys',  when  it 
was  claimed  that  those  who  had  been  abroad  twice  were 
welcomed  in  the  parlor;  those  who  had  been  once  were 
received  in  the  dining-room;  those  who  had  hopes  of  going 
were  relegated  to  the  hall,  while  those  without  hope  were 
out  on  the  porch. 

Mrs.  M.  Tiernan,  now  living  at  Evanston,  but  whose 
pleasant  home  in  those  days  was  on  the  southeast  corner 
of  Rush  and  Ohio  streets,  opposite  that  of  George  E.  Stan- 
ton,  tells  of  an  incident  during  the  Civil  War  which  hap- 
pened at  one  of  the  Newberry  parties  to  her  brother,  Gen- 
eral Joseph  Stockton,  and  which  furnished  much  amuse- 
ment to  him  and  to  that  delightful,  fun-loving  family  of 
Stocktons  of  which  he  was  a  member.  He  was  at  home  on  a 
furlough,  and  Mrs.  Newberry,  who  considered  him  a  bit  of 
a  lion,  introduced  him  to  a  lady  guest  as,  "the  brave  and 
gallant  Colonel  Stockton,  of  whom  you  must  have  heard." 

The  truth-loving  lady,  seemingly  fearing  that  silence 
might  give  consent,  frankly  answered, — 

"No,  I  never  did." 

Those  who  knew  General  Stockton  will  understand  his 
enjoyment  of  this. 


130  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Mrs.  Tiernan  also  remembers  another  of  the  Newberry 
parties  being  distinguished  by  the  presence  of  three  brides, 
Mrs.  Colonel  Graham,  Mrs.  Henry  Miller,  and  Mrs.  Steph- 
en A.  Douglas, 1  the  latter  dressed  in  a  "simple  white  dress, 
low-necked  and  short-sleeved."  Later  Mrs.  Douglas  became 
the  wife  of  General  Williams  and  lived  many  years  in 
Chicago. 

North  of  the  Newberrys,  in  1854,  was  "the  Arnold's 
new  house."  Well  do  I  remember  its  vegetable  and 
flower  gardens,  and  the  joys  of  the  juicy  stalks  of  rhu- 
barb "served  on  the  spot."  In  this  large  house,  strangely 
enough,  where  there  was  so  much  ground,  there  was  a 
basement  dining-room.  There  were  at  that  time  not  a  few 
subterranean  dining-rooms  and  they  were  difficult  of  access 
at  parties.  There  was  a  story  that  made  me  regard  my 
clever  schoolmate,  Louise  Goodwin,  daughter  of  Stephen  A. 
Goodwin,  with  deep  admiration.  She  and  her  escort  were 
going  downstairs  to  supper  at  a  party  at  John  N.  Jewett's 
on  Ontario  Street  when  the  youth  quoted  in  Latin,  "Facilis 
descensus  Averni."  Much  to  his  surprise  his  clever  com- 
panion continued  in  Latin,  "Sed  revocare  gradum,  hoc  opus, 
hie  labor  est."  Bright  school-girls  were  in  evidence  in  those 
days  as  well  as  in  these. 

The  Arnold  house  made  its  first  deep  impression  on  me 
because  it  was  the  scene  of  my  "introduction  into  Chi- 
cago society,"  the  occasion  being  the  birthday  party 
(Valentine's  Day,  1854)  of  the  eldest  daughter  of  the 
house,  Miss  Katherine  Arnold,  who,  honored  and  beloved, 
is  still  well  known  in  Chicago. 

Dr.  Brainerd's  Milwaukee-brick  house  on  the  corner  of 

1  The  mother  of  Mrs.  Walter  Farwell,  of  Chicago. 


LONG  AGO  131 

Rush  and  Huron  streets  was  the  scene  of  my  second  "ball," 
and  I  remember  feeling  properly  dressed  for  the  occasion  in 
a  long-sleeved,  high-necked,  blue  merino  gown.  Dr.  Brain- 
erd  was  probably  Chicago's  most  able  surgeon  at  that  time, 
and  his  daughter,  Julia,  became  one  of  our  most  gifted  and 
delightful  musicians,  though  perhaps  not  ranking  with 
Annie  Tinkham  (afterwards  Mrs.  James  Anthony  Hunt).1 
On  Huron  and  Cass  streets,  diagonally  opposite  each 
other,  were  the  homes  of  the  Julian  Rumseys  and  John 
Reed.  Few  locations  in  Chicago  have  remained  so  long  the 
home  of  one  family  as  has  that  of  the  Julian  Rumseys,  the 
house  being  rebuilt  after  the  Fire  on  much  the  old  lines 
of  the  earlier  building,  and  having  been  lived  in  ever  since 
by  the  children  of  the  original  owners. 

On  North  Clark  Street,  opposite  Washington  Square, 
was  what  was  perhaps  the  handsomest  place  in  the  city,  the 
home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ezra  B.  McCagg,  occupying  fully 
two  blocks,  well  planted  with  noble  trees.  The  driveway 
wound  through  the  beautiful  grounds  from  the  southwest 
corner  of  the  lot  to  the  north  end,  where  stood  the  delightful 
house.  Among  its  many  attractions  perhaps  the  fine  library 
counted  first.  A  large,  stately  room,  lined  with  books  almost 
from  floor  to  ceiling,  was  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  Mr. 
McCagg.  Mrs.  McCagg, 2  a  social  leader  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  word,  and  the  Misses  Jones,  her  daughters  by  a  former 
marriage,  made  this  home  the  center  of  everything  charm- 
ing, simple,  and  refined  in  social  life;  and  many  were  the 
happy  times  enjoyed  there  —  delightful  dances,  musicals, 
private  theatricals,  et  id  omne  genus,  —  but  no  elaborate 

1  Mother  of  Mrs.  Ralph  Hamill,  of  Winnetka. 
1  A  sister  of  William  B.  and  Mahlon  Odgen. 


132  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

suppers,  late  dances,  or  other  harmful  forms  of  entertain- 
ment. 

Just  north  of  the  McCagg  place  stood  the  dainty  little 
house  of  those  two  charming  daughters  of  Mr.  Canda,  Mrs. 
Humphreys  and  Mrs.  Payson,  with  their  attractive  French 
ways  and  gay  music.  To  have  these  two  sisters  play  their 
delightful  duets  for  a  little  dance  was  enough  to  make  the 
heaviest  feet  "light  as  a  feather."  East  of  Mr.  Canda's 
came  the  house  of  Mr.  Mahlon  Ogden,  which  escaped 
the  Fire  but  afterwards  gave  place  to  the  Newberry  Li- 
brary. This  was  the  home  for  many  years  of  two  other 
charming  sisters,  Mrs.  Ogden,  one  of  the  noblest  and  most 
beautiful  women  Chicago  has  ever  known,  and  her  delight- 
ful sister,  Mrs.  Wright,  afterwards  Mrs.  J.  Y.  Scammon.  All 
the  three  "Ogden  families"  were  celebrated  for  their  hos- 
pitality, and  it  was  a  rare  thing  when  their  homes  were  not 
full  of  guests  and  their  carriages  overflowing  with  friends 
and  neighbors. 

There  was  no  lack  of  good  public  amusements  in  the 
fifties  and  sixties,  with  North's  and  McVicker's  theaters,  and 
Metropolitan,  Bryan,  Smith  and  Nixon,  and  Farwell  Halls, 
as  their  scene  of  action.  Two  of  my  sisters  kept  scrap-books 
of  their  programs,  and  from  these  I  glean  many  items  of 
the  "gay  world"  of  that  time.  The  first  record  is  a  program 
of  The  Witch's  Daughter,  given  by  Mrs.  Julia  Dean  Hayne 
at  the  Chicago  Theater  in  1855.  The  boxes  sold  from  three 
to  five  dollars,  other  seats  at  from  twenty -five  to  seventy- 
five  cents  apiece.  There  was  a  notable  concert  in  1857  with 
the  Great  Western  Band,  Messrs.  Ahner  and  others,  as  at- 
tractions; packages  of  five  tickets  for  one  dollar  being  for 
sale  at  Higgins  Bros,  and  Well's  shoe  stores.  There  were 


LONG  AGO  133 

concerts  of  the  Chicago  Musical  Union,  with  Mrs.  Emma  G. 
Bostwick  as  soprano;  Mrs.  Mozart  in  concert;  Mme.  Jo- 
hannsen  in  Child  of  the  Regiment;  Mr.  Hans  Balatka  and 
the  Philharmonic  Concerts;  Parodi  in  Ernani;  Carlotta 
Patti  and  Gottschalk  (with  tickets  at  twenty-five  to  fifty 
cents!). 

"Little  Adelina  Patti  "first  sang  in  Chicago  as  a  child, 
at  the  Tremont  House,  before  we  moved  to  town,  in  1854. 
The  giving  of  one  opera  under  Mr.  Balatka's  direction,  I 
remember  caused  us  quite  a  feeling  of  triumph  for  our  city 
on  one  occasion.  A  foreign  visitor  of  those  days,  Colonel 
Lichtenheim,  thoroughly  posted  about  operas,  was  talking 
over  those  that  had  been  presented  in  Chicago.  He  seemed 
much  surprised  at  their  number  and  at  last  exclaimed,  "I 
know  there  is  one  you  have  never  seen,  The  Czar  and  the 
Zimmerman.  Great  was  our  joy  to  be  able  to  reply  that 
we  had,  and  we  felt  deeply  grateful  to  Mr.  Balatka  for 
having  enabled  us  to  say  so. 

In  1859,  at  McVicker's,  came  Strakosch  with  his  opera 
troupe,  Mmes.  Colson,  Cora  de  Wilhoest,  and  Strakosch; 
and  Messrs.  Squires  and  Brignoli  as  stars.  This  was  the  first 
appearance  here  of  Brignoli  —  that  wonderful  tenor  whose 
voice,  to  my  mind,  has  never  been  equalled.  There  being  no 
phonographs  in  those  days,  this  statement  cannot  be  proved, 
or  disproved,  but  I  doubt  its  being  contradicted  by  those  who 
heard  him  and  who  have  heard  our  later  tenors,  Campanini, 
de  Reszke,  Caruso,  and  others.  Good  opera  seasons  in  1863 
and  '64  at  McVicker's  brought  Lozini,  Susini,  Adelaide  Phil- 
lips, Cordier,  and  Tamaro;  while  in  1858,  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin 
at  North's  Theater;  in  1864,  Frank  Aiken  in  the  Ticket  of 
Leave  3/an,  at  Wood's  Museum;  and  in  1867,  Joseph  Jef- 


134  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

ferson  in  Rip  Van  Winkle;  and  Edwin  Booth  and  Mary 
McVicker  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  indicate  that  the  theatrical 
side  of  the  amusement  world  was  provided  for. 

On  April  20, 1865,  occurred  what  was  probably  the  most  im- 
portant event  in  Chicago's  operatic  history,  when  Crosby's 
Opera  house  was  opened  with  II  Trovatore  as  the  opera,  and 
that  inspiring  soprano,  Mme.  Zucchi,  as  Leonora;  and  Mas- 
similiana,  Morensi,  Bellini,  and  Colletti  in  the  other  roles. 
It  is  cheering  to  see  in  the  newspaper  account,  that  the 
opera  house  and  the  opera  seemed  to  be  more  important 
than  the  audience  and  the  costumes  thereof. 

That  opera  season  lasted  a  month,  and  great  was  the 
pleasure  it  gave.  The  newspaper  description  of  the  house 
itself  speaks  of  "the  blue  and  gold,  the  artistically  chiseled 
figures,  the  beautifully  carved  pillars  of  white  and  gold  in- 
closing the  proscenium  boxes,  the  crimson  and  gold  cur- 
tains of  these,  the  beautiful  frescoed  chariot  of  Aurora 
sailing  through  the  clouds,  the  mellow  moonlike  light 
emanating  from  above  and  throwing  its  pale  shadow  over 
the  beautiful  faces  of  our  Chicago  houris." 

Alas,  that  the  great  fire  deprived  Chicago  of  what,  de- 
spite the  hyperbole  of  the  foregoing  account,  was  a  really 
lovely  auditorium.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  be  present 
that  opening  night  and  the  charming  effect  of  the  white, 
gold  and  blue  coloring,  the  lightness  and  grace  of  all  details, 
made  a  deep  impression  on  every  one.  Of  course  the  dress- 
ing of  the  "Chicago  houris"  was  such  as  to  do  honor  to  the 
occasion,  though  little  attraction  nowadays  could  be  found 
in  the  fashions  of  the  sixties. 

There  were  numerous  entertainments  with  local  talent. 
On  a  program  of  the  second  graduating  exercises  of  the 


LONG  AGO  135 

Chicago  High  School  in  1858,  I  find  the  names  of  Al- 
bert G.  Lane,  Charles  V.  Kelly,  and  H.  F.  Chesbrough.  In 
1865,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Sanitary  Fair,  "the  young 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of  Chicago"  presented  The  Loan  of  a 
Lover,  Perfection,  and  Poor  Pillicody.  Well  do  I  recall  a 
play,  The  Little  Treasure,  given  by  our  then  young  people, 
in  which  Miss  Clara  Gage,  now  Mrs.  Edwin  Clarke,  gave  a 
most  charming  impersonation  of  the  title  role. 

In  1863,  a  company  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  from  Detroit, 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Stors  Willis  at  their  head,  re- 
peated in  Chicago  for  the  benefit  of  the  Soldiers'  North- 
eastern Fair,  a  program  of  most  beautiful  tableaux,  which 
they  had  given  in  Detroit.  This  was  quite  a  "society 
event,"  and  one  of  great  interest  to  me  as,  Mrs.  Willis 
being  my  mother's  cousin,  she  and  Mr.  Willis  were  our 
guests  and  it  seemed  to  me  almost  like  being  "behind  the 
curtain"  at  a  play! 

War  times  brought  many  such  entertainments,  giving  a 
touch  of  brightness  in  the  shadows.  Numbers  of  the  young 
men  had  gone,  some  never  to  return.  The  city  was  full  of 
patriotism,  flags  flying,  war-songs  filled  the  air,  with  the 
Roots  as  composers  and  the  Lombard  brothers  as  singers. 

Before  the  war,  came  the  Lincoln-Douglas  campaign, 
with  the  great  meeting  at  the  Wigwam,  and  party  feeling 
running  high.  A  night  when  the  "Wide- A  wakes"  serenaded 
my  father  with  their  marching-song,  "Ain't  we  glad  we 
joined  the  Wide-A wakes !  joined  the  Wide-A wakes!  down 
in  Illinois,  —  Lincoln  boys  we,  Lincoln  boys  we,  ... 
seemed  an  exciting  occasion  to  me.  My  last  sight  of  Mr. 
Lincoln  was  when,  after  his  nomination,  he  came  to  St. 
James's  Church  with  Isaac  N.  Arnold.  When,  in  1865,  he 


136  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

next  came  back,  we  watched  the  solemn  procession  that 
bore  his  body  through  the  streets  of  our  mourning  city.  I 
have  few  personal  memories  of  him,  but  I  recall  his  walk- 
ing, at  my  father's  request,  under  the  chandelier  in  our 
parlor,  to  see  if  his  tall  head  would  hit  it.  War  times  brought 
the  great  Sanitary  Fair,  and  our  women  were  quite  as  busy 
with  making  bandages  and  scraping  lint,  as  were,  recently, 
the  women  of  to-day  for  our  friends  across  the  seas,  and 
for  the  American  Army  and  Navy. 

One  sad  feature  of  those  days  was  the  severed  friend- 
ships. Some  of  our  southern  citizens  were  "copperheads," 
and  a  copperhead  was  persona  non  grata  even  to  his  best 
friends.  But  the  southerners  who  stood  by  the  Union,  like 
the  Bryans,  and  Clarksons,  "grappled  their  friends  anew 
with  hooks  of  steel." 

The  great  meetings  at  Bryan  Hall,  April  18-24,  1861, 
and  April  9,  1863,  at  all  of  which  my  father  presided,  were 
enthusiastic  occasions;  and  the  list  of  speakers  and  con- 
tributors for  war  funds  includes  most  of  the  well-known 
names  of  the  city:  Julian  S.  and  George  Rumsey,  Solomon 
Sturges,  William  D.  Houghteling,  Orrin  Lunt,  Dr.  Brain- 
erd,  Dr.  N.  S.  Davis,  Gurdon  S.  Hubbard,  Judge  Van  H. 
Higgins,  Samuel  Hoard,  Edwin  Tinkham,  and  others. 

Another  ante-war  memory  is  of  a  little  upper  room  in  a 
brick  building  near  Rush  Street  bridge,  where  he  who  was 
afterward  Colonel  Ellsworth  —  a  slight,  alert  figure,  with 
gallant  bearing  —  drilled  his  Zouaves.  It  was  a  sad  "for- 
tune of  war"  that  brought  his  death  in  the  very  beginning 
of  hostilities.  While  his  military^' career  was  too  short  to 
make  his  name  widely  known,  in  Chicago,  at  least,  it  should 
never  be  forgotten. 


LONG  AGO  137 

An  important  part  in  the  lives  of  our  youthful  citizens 
was  played  by  our  schools.  On  the  South  Side,  "The  Misses 
Lane  and  Baker's,"  and  the  Dearborn  Seminary,  are  the 
ones  I  best  remember.  On  the  North  Side,  the  school  of 
Mrs.  Whiting  and  her  daughter,  Miss  Mary,  was  the  place 
where  many  of  the  "young  ideas"  of  that  generation  were 
trained.  Mrs.  Lewis'  School,  on  Indiana  Street,  was  the 
principal  school  then.  Everyone  loved  and  admired  Mrs. 
Hiram  Lewis  and  her  daughters,  Anna  and  Mary  (after- 
wards Mrs.  Otto  Matz).  The  older  girls  with  Mrs.  Lewis, 
and  the  little  ones  with  Miss  Anna,  were  fortunate.  (Miss 
Mary  took  charge  of  music  lessons  only.)  Then  there  was 
Misses  Saunders'  school  where,  I  remember,  the  Marys — 
Mary  Adams,  Mary  Wadsworth,  Mary  Murray,  Mary  Howe, 
and  myself — outnumbered  Queen  Mary  of  Scotland's,  Marie 
Seaton,  Marie  Beaton,  and  Marie  Carmichael.  Later  on, 
Mrs.  Newall  (afterwards  Mrs.  Kate  Doggett),  had  a  school 
which  some  of  us  attended.  Then  there  was  Mr.  Snow's 
school  for  boys  on  Huron  Street,  and  here  I  remember  see- 
ing Louis  James,1  who  was  always  getting  up  plays,  act 
Bombastes  Furioso  with  a  fire  that  gave  promise  of  the  name 
he  won  on  the  stage  later.  In  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Nellie 
Kinzie  Gordon  to  Edward  P.  DeWolf,  she  says  that  Louis 
James  assured  her  he  made  his  debut  as  an  actor  in  her 
father's  barn!  The  Ogden  School,  a  public  school,  took 
many  pupils  from  the  private  schools.  Then  came  M. 
Berteau's  French  school  on  Cass  Street  near  Erie. 

The  physicians  of  those  days,  Drs.  Brainerd,  Freer, 
Blaney,  Herrick,  Davis,  Small,  and  others,  were  a  close  part 
of  our  family  lives;  while  the  many  fine  lawyers,  Messrs. 

1  Later,  one  of  America's  best-known  comedians.  — Editor. 


138  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

I.  N.  Arnold,  Edwin  C.  Larned,  S.  A.  Goodwin,  Van  H. 
Higgins,  E.  B.  McCagg,  J.  Y.  Scammon,  Judge  William 
Beckwith,  Mr.  Blackwell,  and  Leonard  Swett,  made  a  bar 
of  which  one  might  well  be  proud. 

One  of  our  "institutions"  was  New  Year's  calls,  when 
those  on  the  "distaff"  side  of  the  family  either  hung  out 
baskets  to  show  they  were  not  receiving,  "or  decked  them- 
selves in  gallant  array,"  ready  to  receive  the  masculine 
portion  of  the  community  who  sallied  forth,  on  foot  or  in 
carriages,  singly  or  in  groups,  to  give  their  New  Year's 
good  wishes.  Sometimes  the  refreshments  served  included 
wine,  but  this  was  considered  by  some  as  "fast,"  and  the 
results  of  so  doing  were  not  always  fortunate.  New  Year's 
calls  slowly  disappeared,  but  they  were  pleasant,  and  the 
keeping  and  comparing  of  lists  was  always  exciting.  On 
those  I  have  in  my  possession,  appear  the  names  of  most 
of  the  "beaux  and  gallants"  of  the  day.  One  New  Year's, 
that  dreadful  January  1,  1863,  when  the  mercury  in  the 
thermometer  almost  dropped  out  of  sight,  and  the  wind 
howled  and  the  snow-drifts  were  deep,  I  remember  plung- 
ing through  the  snow  to  carry  to  Dr.  Clarkson  a  large  card 
which,  anticipating  numerous  calls,  he  had  asked  my  bro- 
ther to  print,  and  which  he  expected  to  hang  on  his  popular 
doorway.  The  legend  it  bore  being,  "Please  walk  in  with- 
out knocking,"  my  labor  seemed  quite  unnecessary! 

At  Mrs.  S.  A.  Goodwin's  that  same  day,  while  the  ladies, 
dressed  in  their  best  "bib  and  tucker,"  waited  for  the 
callers  that  did  not  appear,  a  carriage  drove  up  and  the 
driver  brought  in  a  small  thermometer  to  which  was  at- 
tached the  card  of  William  H.  Kerfoot! 

Certainly  so  great  a  delight  to  old  and  young  as  the 


LONG  AGO  139 

Ogden  skating-rink  at  the  then  foot  of  Ontario  Street,  near 
the  lake,  must  not  be  forgotten.  Here,  those  of  us  who  were 
still  at  school,  met  after  school  and  on  Saturdays  for  the 
joy  of  ice-skating;  and  on  the  afternoons  and  evenings,  when 
we  had  carnivals,  it  was  a  gay  sight,  with  the  many  lights, 
pretty  costumes,  and  graceful  skaters.  I  remember  one  after- 
noon when  we  were  all  singing  with  the  band,  hearing  a 
beautiful  voice  near  me.  I  turned  and  saw,  and  heard  for 
the  first  time,  Mrs.  George  B.  Carpenter,  a  recent  bride, 
whose  lovely  contralto  was  a  gift  to  the  musical  life  of 
Chicago,  brought  through  her  marriage  into  that  musical  fam- 
ily, the  Carpenters. *  Their  homelike  brick  house  in  Indiana 
Street  must  have  heard  many  a  "concord  of  sweet  sounds." 
Another  institution  of  our  day  was  the  custom  of  sitting 
on  the  front  steps,  though  even  then  there  were  those  who 
rather  scorned  that  democratic  meeting  place.  But  for  those 
of  us  who  did  not  rejoice  in  porches  and  large  grounds,  they 
had  their  joys,  and  many  were  the  pleasant  summer  even- 
ings which  my  sisters'  friends,  young  men  and  maidens, 
spent  on  our  front  steps.  In  fact  it  was  even  possible  for  un- 
conventional people  like  ourselves  to  carry  out  chairs,  and 
sit  on  the  board  platforms  built  across  the  ditches  that 
ran  along  each  side  the  street,  and  on  which  carriages  drove 
up  to  the  sidewalks.  My  memories  of  a  wonderful  comet  of 
that  year  are  always  associated  with  watching  it  from  our 
platform.  Our  streets  certainly  had  their  "ups  and  downs" 
in  those  days.  Under  the  board  sidewalks  and  in  the  road- 
side ditches  lived  many  rats  who  doubtless  considered 
themselves  among  the  city's  "first  families." 

1  The  sons  of  this  family,  Captain  Benjamin,  Judge  George  A.,  Hubbard, 
and  John  A.,  carry  on  the  family's  musical  traditions.  —  Editor. 


140  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

The  social  clubs  were  an  important  element  in  our  life. 
One  was  "The  Grasshoppers,"  which  consisted  largely  of 
southerners  living  at  that  time  near  Ashland  Avenue, 
among  whom  were  the  Badgers,  Kerfoots,  Harrisons,  Hon- 
ores,  Rogers,  Walkers,  and  Halls.  This  was  the  first  of 
many  such  organizations,  and  got  its  name  from  the  fact 
that  the  dresses  of  the  ladies,  as  they  passed  to  each  other's 
houses  through  the  high  grass  of  the  fields,  were  often  cov- 
ered with  grasshoppers. 

As  I  look  back  through  the  perspective  of  the  long  years 
since  those  early  days,  I  try  to  bring  before  me  the  atmos- 
phere in  which  we  "lived  and  moved  and  had  our  being." 
We  all  realize  our  tendency  when  old  to  think  that  "the 
former  days  were  better  than  these,"  and  must  guard 
against  that;  but,  while  to-day  sees  great  improvements, 
social,  moral,  religious,  and  philanthropic,  as  well  as  mate- 
rial, in  some  things  we  can  claim  much  for  the  past.  Nat- 
urally, in  a  smaller  city  and  with  less  wealth,  there  was 
more  simple  living.  Of  course  there  were  "high  teas,"  when 
our  mothers  and  fathers  were  regaled  with  "pound  to  a 
pound"  preserves,  chicken  salad,  escalloped  oysters,  pound- 
cake, fruit-cake  and  all  other  cakes  known  to  womankind ; 
and  where  they  played  old-fashioned  whist  and  chess,  - 
but  such  things  as  the  bridge-parties  of  the  present  day  with 
women  playing  for  money  were  indeed  rare.  At  many  of 
our  parties,  ice-cream  and  cake  for  refreshments  were  con- 
sidered "an  elegant  sufficiency."  The  ladies'  dressing  also 
was  simpler  than  it  is  to-day.  Young  ladies  wore  organ- 
dies and  tarlatans  for  party-gowns,  and  it  can  fairly  be 
claimed  that,  in  spite  of  a  few  exceptions,  the  gowns  were 
modest.  I  remember  that  our  rules  for  the  popular  Sans 


LONG  AGO  141 

Ceremonie  Club  required  afternoon  dress,  —  which  in  those 
days  meant  high  neck  and  long  sleeves,  —  very  simple 
refreshments,  but  good  music,  and  home  by  twelve  o'clock. 
Escorts  were  not  to  bring  carriages  for  the  ladies.  These 
rules  were  for  all  the  parties  except  the  last  one  of  the 
season,  and  in  spite  of  them,  never  was  there  a  more  pop- 
ular club. 

Of  course  there  was  no  "organized  charity,"  as  we  know 
it  nowadays,  but  there  was  much  of  that  now  despised 
"basket  charity,"  when  friendships  were  formed  between 
rich  and  poor.  Certainly  there  was  at  that  time  far  less 
class  feeling.  Most  of  our  young  people  who  sought  to  be 
philanthropic  worked  through  their  churches,  and  the 
churches  and  religious  observances  seemed  to  enter  more 
closely  into  our  home  lives  than  is  the  case  to-day.  Many 
were  our  "Mothers  in  Israel,"  who  did  noble  work.  Mrs. 
Joseph  T.  Ryerson,  Mrs.  Reynolds,  Mrs.  Hoag,  Mrs.  Clark- 
son,  Mrs.  F.  B.  Peabody,  Mrs.  W.  D.  Houghteling,  and 
many  others,  were  our  "United  Charities."  Perhaps,  how- 
ever, the  greatest  change  is  in  the  way  everything  in  that 
era  centered  in  the  home.  No  such  article  as,  "The  Passing 
of  Mother,"  suggested  itself  at  that  time.  Even  fathers 
were  a  part  of  family  life,  and  were  expected  to  have  a 
voice.  There  were  no  dinner-parties  for  young  people;  no 
smoking  by  the  women;  gentlemen,  even,  asked  permission 
to  smoke  when  in  general  company;  hours  were  early,  and 
it  was  rare  to  find  wine  at  a  party.  "Square-dances"  were 
popular,  and  at  one  time  a  program  would  have  two  to 
every  "round"  dance.  Afterwards  they  alternated,  and  then 
the  square-dances  hid  their  defeated  heads  entirely. 

Perhaps  one  thing  that  kept  the  home-ties  strong  was  the 


142  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

established  "festivals,"  Christmas  and  Thanksgiving,  which 
were  always  spent  in  the  bosom  of  the  family  and  added 
their  happy  associations  to  "the  dearest  spot  on  earth."  It 
was  a  homelike,  simple,  friendly  life  we  led,  and  those  of  us 
who  look  back  on  those  decades  as  the  "days  of  our  youth," 
see  them  through  the  shimmering  clouds  that  hang  be- 
tween us  and  them,  and  give  thanks  for  the  "good  old  times," 
while  we  bid  "all  hail"  to  the  powers  and  opportunities  of 
the  present ! 


IX 

FORGOTTEN   CHICAGO 
BY  MADAME  CHARLES  BIGOT 

THERE  comes  before  my  mind  a  little  picture  of  which  I 
can  recall  every  detail :  A  small,  cozy  salon  in  a  Paris  apart- 
ment, Rue  de  Ponthieu,  close  to  the  Champs-Elysees;  an 
open  fire;  a  round  table  with  a  big  lamp  on  it;  our  mother, 
surrounded  by  those  among  us  who  were  old  enough  to 
understand,  reading  a  long  letter  on  thin  paper,  written 
very  small,  for  in  those  far-off  days  postage  was  abominably 
dear  and  we  were  not  rich.  These  closely- written  pages 
came  from  over  the  ocean,  from  a  town  with  an  absurdly 
difficult  name  which  we  pronounced  something  like 
"Tchicaggo,"  and  which  was  situated  on  a  lake  as 
big  as  a  sea.  How  my  elder  sister  and  I  listened,  as 
to  some  wonderful  tale,  open-mouthed  and  wide-eyed! 
The  letters  were  written  by  our  father1  who  had  left  us 
for  a  venturesome  journey  into  the  unknown.  They  told 
of  a  hearty  reception,  kindnesses  without  number,  un- 
ceasing work. 

And  this  is  how  it  all  came  about. 

A  most  charming  gentleman,  who  had  become  quite  in- 
timate in  our  Paris  home  and  whose  name  is  associated  with 
the  early  history  of  Chicago,  William  B.  Ogden,  never 
wearied  of  talking  about  the  prairie  town,  destined,  he  felt 
sure,  to  become  a  very  great  city  indeed.  It  has  become 

1  G.  P.  A.  Healy,  the  distinguished  artist.  —  Editor. 


144  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

greater  and  richer  and  more  important  even  than  our  visitor 
imagined  it  could  ever  be. 

Our  father  had  had  a  remarkably  successful  early 
career;  he  had  been  sent  by  Louis  Philippe,  first  to  Windsor 
Castle,  with  Queen  Victoria's  permission,  to  copy  historic 
portraits;  then  to  America  to  paint  portraits  of  well-known 
statesmen  for  the  Versailles  gallery.  He  took  this  oppor- 
tunity to  collect  an  immense  number  of  likenesses  of  orators 
and  political  men  which  he  utilized  in  his  great  picture  of 
Webster  replying  to  Hayne,  now  in  Faneuil  Hall,  Boston. 

After  the  fall  of  his  royal  patron,  the  enormous  expense 
incurred  in  the  painting  of  this  big  picture,  caused  the 
young  artist  some  financial  embarrassment.  The  family 
was  growing  rapidly;  there  was  always  a  baby  in  the  house 
in  those  days.  Two  of  the  older  children,  both  boys,  had 
died  in  childhood,  but  the  series  of  girls  continued  with 
alarming  regularity. 

Mr.  Ogden,  keen-eyed  and  shrewd,  persuaded  my  father 
to  go  to  Chicago,  on  a  visit  at  least,  and  with  true  American 
hospitality  opened  his  house  to  his  new  friend.  It  was  from 
that  house,  at  the  head  of  which  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edwin 
Sheldon,  brother-in-law  and  sister  of  the  owner,  that  came 
the  closely- written  pages  of  thin  paper.  I  suppose  that  we 
did  not  clearly  understand  everything  they  contained,  but 
we  were  fascinated.  Once  the  letter  told  of  cold  such  as  we 
had  never  imagined:  "I  stood,"  said  the  writer,  "on  the 
high  steps  of  a  house  where  I  meant  to  pay  a  visit  and  the 
fierce  wind,  the  cruel  cold,  made  my  old  Roman  cloak  seem 
a  mere  sheet  of  paper."  What  sort  of  country  was  this,  and 
how  could  one  live  in  it  without  being  frozen  into  a  lump 
of  ice? 


FORGOTTEN   CHICAGO  145 

But  there  were  many  other  details  which  made  us  glow 
with  anticipation  for,  almost  from  the  beginning,  we  felt 
dimly  that  we,  too,  were  destined  to  see  that  strange  town 
of  "Tchicaggo." 

After  a  year  came  the  long-expected  summons.  We  were 
all  to  cross  the  ocean  as  soon  as  our  mother  could  have  the 
furniture  boxed,  get  a  few  clothes  made,  and  start  on  the 
lengthy  and  painful  journey. 

What  were  our  first  impressions  of  Chicago?  They  re- 
main very  vague  in  my  mind. 

As  no  home  was  yet  ready  for  us,  we  were  all  received 
with  open  arms  in  the  big,  roomy  Ogden  house,  situated  in 
the  middle  of  a  garden  filled  with  superb  trees.  I  had  just 
made  my  first  acquaintance  with  Fenimore  Cooper's  ro- 
mances, and  I  liked  to  imagine  great,  stealthy,  soft-footed 
Indians  lurking  behind  those  trees,  ready  to  swoop  down 
upon  us  children  —  with  rescue  at  hand,  of  course.  Unless 
I  am  much  mistaken,  Mrs.  C.  Wheeler,  an  elder  sister  of 
Mrs.  Sheldon,  was  then  also  at  the  Ogden  house  with 
her  children,  some  of  whom  were  about  our  ages.  I  re- 
member especially  Ellie,  because  she  wore  little  low- 
necked  frocks,  a  fashion  I  longed  to  imitate.  Many,  many 
years  after,  I  saw  her  as  Mrs.  Alexander  C.  McClurg,  a 
rare  woman,  whom  I  greatly  loved  and,  later,  most  sin- 
cerely mourned. 

Without  any  transition  in  my  remembrances  of  these  pre- 
historic days,  I  see  ourselves  installed  in  a  tall  shell  of  a 
frame  house  on  Illinois  Street,  rather  near  Clark  Street. 
My  mother  trembled  when  the  furnace  roared  and  sent  up 
great  blasts  of  heat.  She  felt  sure  the  tinder-box  of  a  house 
would  burn  up;  and  so  it  did  —  but  after  we  had  left  it. 


146  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

We  had  not  long  been  in  our  new  home  when  one  morn- 
ing at  breakfast  time,  we  noticed  through  the  dining-room 
window,  some  strange  and  certainly  unexpected  guests  on 
the  porch.  We  went  out  to  investigate  and  found  ourselves 
face  to  face  with  real  American  Indians,  men  and  women; 
among  the  last,  I  fancy,  who  ever  visited  this  spot  which 
was  once  the  hunting-ground  of  their  forefathers.  These 
poor  creatures  carried  no  tomahawks  and  very  gratefully 
accepted  the  meal  my  mother  caused  to  be  served  to  them. 
This  really  was  an  American  episode,  and  my  romantic 
young  soul  was  satisfied. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  enumerate  the  kind  friends  who 
opened  their  homes  and  their  hearts  to  the  rather  bewil- 
dered little  troop  of  uprooted  pseudo-Americans.  My  moth- 
er was  English  to  the  backbone  and  remained  such  to  her 
last  day,  ever  loyal  to  "her  Queen,"  whom  she  somewhat 
resembled,  and  who  was  about  her  own  age.  As  to  the 
rest  of  us,  we  seemed,  what  Mr.  McCagg  later  called, 
"blasted  foreigners";  but  we  took  to  our  new  home  with 
great  zest  after  the  first  surprise  had  passed.  In  many  of 
the  families  we  quickly  got  to  know  there  were  boys  and 
girls  —  especially  the  latter  —  with  whom  we  were  soon 
intimate. 

Our  best  friends  we  found  in  the  families  of  Judge  Drum- 
mond,  Judge  Mark  Skinner,  and  Isaac  N.  Arnold.  And  now 
that  our  hair  has  turned  gray  or  white,  they  are  still  close 
and  dear  to  us. 

My  mother  was  particularly  fond  of  Mrs.  Drummond, 
whose  modest  pecuniary  position,  borne  with  unswerving 
dignity  and  courage,  recalled  her  own  circumstances.  Judge 
Drummond,  a  very  remarkable  man,  was  universally  re- 


FORGOTTEN  CHICAGO  147 

spected  and  admired.  His  foremost  fellow-citizens  were 
proud  to  be  invited  to  his  nice,  comfortable  and  very  sim- 
ple home. 

We,  the  older  children,  spent  many  a  cheerful  hour  in 
that  living-room  with  its  worn  carpet  and  faded  armchairs. 
We  enjoyed  there  some  of  the  happiest,  j oiliest  evenings  I 
can  remember.  All  of  us,  boys  and  girls,  were  as  chummy  as 
possible  without  —  as  yet  —  any  thought  of  flirtation. 

Then,  for  my  sister  and  myself,  came  the  question  of 
school.  Of  course,  our  first  education  had  been  in  French, 
though  we  had  been  taught  some  English  too. 

It  was  decided  that  we  should  go  to  a  school  kept  by  two 
highly -educated  eastern  ladies,  Miss  Lane  and  Miss  Baker. 
This  school  was  held  in  the  basement  of  a  church;  of 
what  denomination  was  the  church,  I  have  no  idea.  At 
any  rate,  during  the  week  the  basement  was  filled  with  the 
murmur  of  young  voices.  Of  course,  it  was  only  a  day-school. 
It  was  a  very  bare  and  ugly  place,  supported  by  wooden 
pillars.  Rows  and  rows  of  small  desks  were  occupied  by  the 
daughters  of  the  "first  families"  of  Chicago,  that  is,  of  the 
old  settlers.  I  forthwith  fell  madly  in  love  with  Miss  Baker, 
the  younger  of  our  two  teachers,  a  pretty  young  woman, 
as  I  remember  her,  with  very  white  skin  and  clear,  rather 
cold,  blue  eyes.  She  taught  English  and  encouraged  my 
feeble  efforts. 

My  sister  and  I  used  to  attend  school  most  regularly, 
generally  crossing  the  river  in  a  ferryboat  at  Rush  Street, 
before  the  bridge  was  built.  One  morning,  we  boarded  it  as 
usual,  I  holding  in  my  hand  a  theme  for  the  beloved  Miss 
Baker.  Suddenly,  there  were  cries  of  alarm;  a  steam  tug 
was  close  upon  us  and  the  danger  was  great.  Men  shouted, 


148  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

women  screamed;  we  remained  close  to  each  other,  not 
uttering  a  sound,  it  seems  to  me.  Luckily,  just  in  time,  the 
ferryman  was  able  to  lower  the  chain  or  cord  and  the  tug 
passed  by  without  upsetting  us.  But  my  masterpiece  was 
lost  in  the  very  dirty  water  and  I  shudder  still  to  think 
that  we  might  have  been  drowned  in  that  horrid,  slimy 
river  of  long  ago.  When  my  brother  grew  up  to  the  dignity 
of  breeches  and  school,  he  was  asked  what  was  a  river. 
He  promptly  answered:  "A  body  of  water  that  has  a  very 
bad  smell." 

Among  the  younger  girls  I  noticed  two,  Minnie  Burch 
and  Sarah  Farnham,  who  were  always  together.  They  were 
so  natty,  in  their  little  short  frocks  and  with  curling  hair 
that  I  regarded  them  with  a  curious  sort  of  envy.  When  I 
was  eight  or  ten,  I  never  used  to  look  as  dainty  as  they. 
Sarah  married  an  American.  Minnie  went  to  school  at 
Fontainebleau.  It  had  come  to  be  a  sort  of  home  for  the 
American  girl,  and  she  was  married  from  it.  Some  years 
later,  her  first  husband  having  died,  she  married  his  most 
intimate  friend,  M.  Alexandre  Ribot,  who  has  made  a  great 
name  for  himself,  was  once  very  nearly  elected  President  of 
the  French  Republic,  and,  during  the  great  war,  directed  the 
finances  of  the  country  in  a  most  masterly  fashion.  Madame 
Ribot  has  long  been  a  very  prominent  figure  in  ministerial 
circles,  where  her  charm  and  tact  have  made  her  a  uni- 
versal favorite. 

Memories  of  other  schoolmates  flit  before  me,  though  only 
a  few  have  remained  distinct.  But  I  see,  especially,  the  room 
as  a  whole  when  I  shut  my  eyes.  In  reality,  my  sister  and  I 
only  remained  at  the  Lane  and  Baker  school  about  a  year. 
I  remember  that  the  winter  was  a  hard  one,  with  blizzards 


FORGOTTEN   CHICAGO  149 

and  cruel  cold,  or  else  a  thaw  with  such  mud  as  we  had 
never  imagined,  accustomed  as  we  were  to  the  clean  Paris 
streets.  But  whatever  the  weather  might  be,  we  trotted  off 
with  our  books  under  our  arms.  Our  father,  the  kindest  of 
men,  was  inflexible  when  he  thought  duty  was  involved. 
Personally,  nothing  stopped  him  when  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  do  a  thing.  And,  what  he  could  do,  we  were  also 
forced  to  do.  One  day,  I  happened  to  be  coming  from 
school  alone.  The  streets  were  in  a  terrible  condition.  In 
those  days,  the  sidewalks  were  raised  on  high,  I  suppose  for 
the  better  accommodation  of  thousands  of  the  largest  rats 
I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  Rickety  steps  led  up  to  these  side- 
walks and,  where  the  mud  was  deepest,  a  board  was  thrown 
across  the  street.  Just  as  I  put  my  foot  on  one  end  of  such 
a  plank,  a  great,  coarse  German  put  his  on  the  other  side. 
I  had  a  strong  sense  of  my  personal  dignity  and  it  had  been 
dinned  into  my  ears  that  chivalry,  supposed  to  have  been 
banished  from  the  old  world,  had  taken  refuge  in  the  new, 
where  my  sex  was  held  in  high  esteem.  My  dignity  refused 
to  yield.  Chivalry,  represented  by  this  hyphenated  Amer- 
ican, held  its  ground  —  or  rather  advanced  along  the  plank. 
We  met  in  the  middle.  With  a  Teutonic  curse,  the  man 
pushed  me  into  the  deep  mud,  and  went  on  his  way  rejoic- 
ing, as  though  he  had  invaded  a  neutral  country.  I,  poor 
tot,  humbled  and  heart-broken,  dragged  my  left  leg, 
encased  in  filthy  mud,  as  far  as  our  house,  where  my  mother 
consoled  me,  wiped  away  my  tears  —  and  washed  me. 

Among  the  stories  of  those  times  was  the  following:  A 
man's  head  was  visible  above  the  sea  of  mud  and  kindly 
Samaritans  proposed  to  throw  him  a  rope  that  he  might 
land  in  safety,  at  which  he  exclaimed:  "Don't 


150  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

bother  about  me,  I  am  riding  a  good  horse."  It  must 
have  been  about  this  time  that  I  had  a  curious  adventure. 
I  was  a  little  intoxicated  with  the  new  liquor  of  liberty, 
and  determined  to  go  out  into  the  world  and  see  what  it 
was  like.  Without  saying  anything  to  my  mother,  I  sallied 
forth  —  probably  it  was  a  holiday,  as  I  had  no  thought  of 
school.  At  that  period,  from  Illinois  Street  to  Chicago 
Avenue  the  waves  washed  in  where  now  stand  great  rows 
of  houses  and  factories,  and  the  lake  possessed  for  me 
a  singular  attraction.  I  plodded  through  a  wide  sandy 
territory,  where  hovels  were  inhabited  by  a  very  queer 
population.  Untidy  women  stood  in  doorways  and  looked 
at  me  askance;  ragged  children  ran  after  me.  I  did  not 
care.  I  was  out  for  adventure.  Soon,  I  reached  the  beauti- 
ful water's  edge.  I  walked  on  good,  firm  sand.  There  were 
no  evidences  of  the  nearby  town.  Then  came  trees,  many 
trees,  to  my  mind  a  primeval  forest.  A  forest  had  always 
had  for  me  a  peculiar  fascination  with  its  silence,  broken 
only  by  rustling  leaves,  its  depths  full  of  mystery.  En- 
chanted, I  went  on  and  on.  What  is  now  lovely  Lincoln 
Park  was  a  sombre  tangle.  I  was  absolutely  alone  in  this 
new  world,  and  if  my  heart  beat  a  little  faster  than  usual, 
that  was  added  pleasure. 

Only  —  only  —  from  the  dark  woods  suddenly  emerged 
an  ill-dressed  man.  He  came  toward  me  rapidly.  Should  I 
turn  and  run?  Perish  the  thought !  Besides,  I  knew  that  if 
he  had  evil  intentions,  he  could  easily  overtake  me.  So  I 
went  on,  but  with  less  pleasure  in  my  adventure.  The  man 
and  I  were  rapidly  nearing  each  other  when  —  still  from 
the  woods  —  another  man,  an  older  one,  came  toward  me. 
He  looked  severely  at  me : 


FORGOTTEN  CHICAGO  151 

"What  are  you  doing  here  alone,  little  girl?" 

"Just  taking  a  walk." 

"Well,  turn  around  and  walk  home  as  fast  as  you  can. " 

Meekly,  I  obeyed,  internally  most  grateful  to  my 
gruff  protector.  At  the  sight  of  him,  the  young  man  had 
taken  to  his  heels.  When,  at  last,  I  reached  the  unsavory  set- 
tlement by  the  water  side,  the  policeman  —  for  it  must  have 
been  a  policeman  —  was  still  following  and  protecting  me. 

I  never  boasted  to  my  mother  of  my  adventure. 

Among  the  friends  my  parents  had  made  were  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Thomas  B.  Bryan,  who,  in  the  late  fifties,  built  a 
house  and  planted  trees  in  a  place  derisively  called  Cottage 
Hill.  The  village  now  rejoices  in  the  more  appropriate  name 
of  Elmhurst,  and  nowadays,  in  1919,  we  occasionally  motor 
over  to  the  old  Bryan  house,  the  same,  but  much  enlarged. 
The  trees  are  now  magnificent,  a  veritable  English  park.  Mr. 
Bryan  advised  my  father  to  buy  a  little  place  just  opposite 
—  which  he  immediately  did  —  and  there  established  his 
young  and  numerous  family. 

It  was  a  queer  frame  house,  with  a  good  many  rooms,  but 
so  low  of  ceiling  that  when,  one  day,  George  Higginson 
came  to  call,  he  touched  the  ceiling  with  his  hat,  saying: 
'You  are  not  very  high  up  in  the  world  here."  I  was  silently 
indignant  and  looked  upon  our  visitor  as  a  very  rude  gentle- 
man, for  I,  with  my  enthusiastic  nature,  took  to  country 
life  —  during  the  summer  at  least  —  most  fervently.  Be- 
sides the  Bryans,  we  had  but  few  neighbors.  However,  I 
remember  pretty  distinctly  Mrs.  Case,  step-mother  to  Mrs. 
Henry  W.  King,  and  her  small  brood  of  children.  But  on 
the  whole,  our  mother  found  this  long  sojourn  in  the  coun- 
try rather  austere.  We  children  had  a  governess,  a  nice 


152  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Maine  girl  of  twenty-two  —  an  advanced  age,  it  seemed  to 
us.  I  think  her  greatest  recommendation  was  that  she  had 
a  broken  heart,  which  it  was  hoped  might  be  mended  in 
time.  It  evidently  was,  for  later  she  was  very  happily 
married.  It  rendered  her  to  us,  the  elder  children,  an  object 
of  much  interest  and  speculation.  We  had  a  school-room 
fitted  up  on  the  second  floor  next  to  the  billiard-room.  Off 
this  billiard  room  were  tiny  cells,  occupied  by  the  governess, 
my  sister,  and  myself.  To  have  a  bedroom  all  to  oneself 
seemed  to  us  the  greatest  of  luxuries,  even  though  it  might 
be  about  the  size  of  a  closet. 

During  this  first  winter,  our  one  joy  —  and  it  was  a  great 
one  —  was  to  crowd  around  our  mother  and  listen  to  her 
reading  of  anything  and  everything,  poetry  and  prose, 
French  and  English.  The  days  might  be  dull,  with  horrid 
arithmetic  or  what  not,  but  we  could  always  look  forward 
to  the  evenings,  when  bedtime  came  ever  too  soon.  And 
our  young  governess  was  as  eager  as  we  were  ourselves.  I 
think  I  have  never  heard  anyone  read  better  than  our 
mother.  In  that  way,  she  made  Shakespeare  and  her  be- 
loved Byron  familiar  to  us,  as  well  as  the  best  novelists. 
She  read  Les  Miserables  of  Victor  Hugo,  which  fascinated 
us  ...  and  how  many  other  works ! 

Our  parents  soon  understood  that  for  my  sister  Agnes 
and  myself  some  sort  of  instruction,  other  than  that  given 
us  by  our  nice  governess  —  who  at  least  had  learned  some 
French  from  us  —  had  become  necessary.  We  were  taken 
to  a  convent  in  western  Virginia,  highly  recommended  to 
my  father. 

This  school  period  spent  far  from  Chicago,  with  our 
holidays  in  the  country,  is  quite  out  of  my  subject.  Mean- 


FORGOTTEN   CHICAGO  153 

while,  the  war  of  Secession  was  going  on.  We,  of  course, 
were  ardent  northerners  and  there  were  many  southern 
girls  in  the  school.  The  nuns  were  forced  to  forbid  any 
allusion  to  politics,  else  we  should  have  fought  the  battles 
over  again  in  our  class-rooms.  So,  after  one  long  stride,  I 
must  get  back  to  Chicago  once  more,  as  a  grown  girl,  when 
Agnes  and  I  began  to  see  something  of  society,  in  a  very 
modest  way,  however, —  very  different  from  the  "coming 
out"  of  the  modern  young  lady,  with  its  wealth  of  flowers, 
its  innumerable  engagements,  its  whirl  and  fatigue,  end- 
ing at  times  in  absolute  lassitude  —  until  one  becomes, 
what  is  so  gracefully  called,  a  "back  number,"  or  is  married. 
Nothing  of  that  sort  was  the  fashion  in  the  sixties,  at  least 
so  far  as  I  can  remember. 

Let  me  try  to  see  the  past,  as  clearly  as  one  can  after 
such  a  lapse  of  time. 

My  father  bought  a  house  on  Wabash  Avenue,  between 
Jackson  and  Van  Buren  streets.  It  was  a  frame  house, 
originally  small,  probably,  but  to  which  numerous  additions 
had  been  made,  so  that  it  was  of  rather  singular  construc- 
tion, very  deep  for  its  width,  giving  us  a  large  living-room, 
excellent  for  dancing.  Unfortunately,  during  our  long  ab- 
sence from  Chicago,  the  friends  we  had  made  as  children 
had  grown  up  in  their  own  way.  We  were  now  almost  as 
much  strangers  as  on  our  first  arrival.  Some  of  the  girls  we 
still  knew  and  loved;  they  received  us  with  open  arms,  and 
that  was  very  pleasant.  But  we  knew  almost  no  young  men. 
An  experience  of  mine  at  that  time  has  remained  stamped 
on  my  mind  with  most  unpleasant  vividness. 

A  friend  of  the  family  who  had  a  daughter,  a  little  older 
than  I,  out  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  asked  me  to  accom- 


154  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

pany  them  to  some  big  ball,  given  where,  on  what  occa- 
sion, I  do  not  remember.  A  ball  —  a  real  ball !  I  was 
frightened,  but  yet  in  a  state  of  excitement  and  expectation. 
All  the  novels  I  had  read,  those  of  Miss  Austen  especially, 
turned  on  such  events :  the  heroine  generally  met  the  hero 
at  an  "assembly,"  and  great  were  the  consequences  thereof. 
But  when  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  where  I 
knew  no  one,  I  began  to  wish  myself  safely  back  in  my  little 
room,  far  from  curious  and  unsympathetic  glances.  The 
young  lady  whom  I  had  been  asked  to  accompany  was  soon 
whirled  away  by  a  partner.  By  some  chance  a  young  man, 
whom  I  knew,  asked  me  for  a  waltz,  but  ever,  ever  so  far 
off.  My  friend's  unfortunate  father  stoically  sat  beside  me 
until  I  so  earnestly  begged  him  to  leave  me  to  my  sad 
fate,  that  he  did.  Before  long  I  was  submerged  by  rows  of 
chairs  occupied  by  dowagers,  utter  strangers,  who  looked 
at  me  askance.  I  could  have  cried  from  sheer  mortification 
and  misery.  Hour  after  hour  of  this  torture  passed.  Mean- 
while, I  saw  my  one  partner  go  by,  evidently  looking  for 
me.  I  hid  behind  a  stout  lady.  Anything,  rather  than  to  be 
found  in  my  forlorn  condition;  I  felt  sure  that  I  had  grown 
ten  years  older  and  ten  times  plainer  after  this  ordeal. 
Since  then  my  pity  for  wall-flowers  has  grown  apace. 

Before  very  long,  however,  we  made  our  own  friends  and 
our  circle  was  enlarged.  My  father,  more  popular  than 
ever,  saw  his  studio  always  filled,  and  my  mother's  quiet, 
gentle  grace  in  receiving  his  friends,  old  and  new,  made  of 
our  home  a  center.  Little  by  little,  my  sister  Agnes  and  I, 
not  only  went  to  parties,  but  helped  our  parents  to  receive. 
In  these  days  when  the  smallest  entertainment  is  adorned 
by  masses  of  flowers  from  the  fashionable  florist,  where 


FORGOTTEN  CHICAGO  155 

there  is  rivalry  as  to  the  newest  gowns,  when  balls  have  to 
be  given  at  hotels  or  halls,  because  one's  own  drawing-room 
is  too  small  to  contain  the  innumerable  guests,  and  where 
everything  is  regulated  according  to  a  well-established, 
rigid  and  somewhat  monotonous  method,  these  informal 
receptions  of  ours  would  seem  singularly  provincial.  But 
we  enjoyed  them  and  they  became  popular  among  our 
friends.  Someone  opened  the  piano  and  we  had  many  a  gay 
waltz  or  polka,  long  before  the  "Boston"  became  the  rage 
—  that  poor,  graceful  Boston,  now  so  forgotten  and  super- 
seded by  queer  dances,  not  always  very  proper  to  my  old- 
fashioned  mind.  We  always  wound  up  with  a  Virginia  Reel, 
as  in  old  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley's  time  —  just  think  of  it! 
Often  we  would  go  to  each  other's  houses  without  any 
invitation  at  all  and,  as  soon  as  a  few  couples  had  assembled 
-  quick !  the  piano  was  opened  and  we  had  an  hour  of 
delightful  dancing,  in  our  every-day  clothes.  We  also  got 
up  private  theatricals  of  a  primitive  kind,  which  greatly 
amused  us,  if  not  the  spectators. 

Our  way  of  living  differed  greatly  from  that  of  the  present 
day.  As  my  father's  work  was  chiefly  in  the  morning,  we 
had  a  regular  old-time  American  breakfast,  with  meat, 
potatoes,  cakes,  and  so  forth.  The  dinner  was  at  two  o'clock. 
At  seven,  we  had  supper,  or  "high  tea, "  as  it  was  called,  the 
coziest  and  most  elastic  of  meals.  Constantly  some  friend, 
or  friends,  would  drop  in.  There  was  plenty  for  all :  cold 
meats,  hot  biscuits,  jellies,  cakes,  tea.  It  was  a  simple  sort 
of  life,  but  a  singularly  pleasant  one,  it  seems  to  me. 

Then,  often  in  the  mornings,  we  would  go  and  chat  with 
our  girl  friends,  the  Drummonds,  the  Skinners,  the  Arnolds, 
the  Brainerds,  the  Newberrys,  and  others.  In  the  last  named 


156  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

family  there  were  two  really  beautiful  daughters,  Mary  and 
Julia.  Both  of  them  died  young.  Their  fine  house  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  superb  "yard,"  occupying  a  whole  block,  bound- 
ed by  Rush,  Pine,  Erie  and  Ontario  streets,  shaded  by  mag- 
nificent old  trees.  Chicago  in  those  days  fully  justified  its 
name  of  the  "Garden  City."  This  household  was  kept  up 
in  a  somewhat  European  style,  though  even  there,  I  do 
not  think  that  there  was  a  butler.  The  fact  that  Mary  had 
her  own  suite  of  beautiful  rooms  rather  awed  me,  but  we 
were  very  good  friends  all  the  same.  Some  years  later,  we 
saw  them  again  in  Europe,  where  they  were  much  sought 
after.  But  their  young  lives  were  embittered  by  the  fear 
of  falling  a  prey  to  fortune-hunters,  and  they  turned  aside 
from  many  a  suitor  who,  very  likely,  saw,  not  their  fortune, 
but  themselves. 

Another  great  house,  most  luxuriously  comfortable,  open- 
ed its  doors  to  us:  that  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ezra  B.  McCagg, 
which  also  stood  among  great  trees  and  beautiful  flowers, 
on  Clark  Street  where  now  are  the  Walton  apartments. 
When  my  father  first  came  to  Chicago,  the  McCaggs  were 
abroad.  On  their  return,  Mr.  McCagg  absolutely  refused  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  that  "Frenchified  artist,"  who 
was  being  lionized  by  everybody  and  about  whom  all  the 
women  were  making  such  a  fuss.  But  he  did  finally  meet 
the  "Frenchified"  painter  and  very  soon  succumbed  to  his 
charm.  They  remained  intimate  friends  to  the  last. 

I  have  now  come  to  the  age  of  wide  hoop-skirts,  of  war 
horrors,  and  of  heroism,  of  a  more  dignified  Chicago,  where, 
however,  frame  shanties  still  held  their  own  by  the  side  of 
tall,  marble-fronted  houses,  very  grand  and  somewhat  cold- 
ly uniform  in  style.  The  North  Side  kept  its  beautifully 


FORGOTTEN  CHICAGO  157 

shaded  streets  and  was  still  very  rickety  as  to  sidewalks. 
Michigan  Avenue  had  become  the  fashionable  residence 
quarter.  Our  Wabash  Avenue  retained  its  look  of  suburban 
beauty,  with  its  two  rows  of  fine  trees  and  its  frame  houses, 
low,  but  comfortable.  The  sidewalks,  however,  were  a 
terror.  One  still  had  to  climb  four  or  five  crazy  steps  held 
together  by  huge  nails ;  these  often  caught  the  lowest  hoop 
of  our  voluminous  skirts.  Many  were  the  falls  we  endured. 
These  same  hoops  were  a  source  of  annoyance  and  of  shame 
too,  as,  in  order  to  scramble  into  a  carriage  we  always  had 
to  be  preceded  by  the  extended  skirt  or  to  let  it  go  up  un- 
blushingly  behind.  But  carriages  were  rare  in  those  days. 
I  suppose  that  there  must  have  been  some  sort  of  public 
conveyance,  but  I  cannot  recall  it.  How  we  covered  the 
great  distances  between  our  different  homes,  I  do  not 
remember.  I  suppose  that  we  were  better  walkers  than  we 
now  are.  We  have  grown  lazy,  thanks  to  the  street-car,  to 
the  taxi,  or,  frequently,  to  the  automobile  or  "electric"  of 
our  well-to-do  friends. 

Meanwhile,  in  spite  of  war  and  apprehension  as  to  the 
future,  my  father  kept  very  busy.  Among  his  sitters  at  this 
time  was  a  very  pretty  girl,  one  of  Chicago's  belles,  who,  in 
spite  of  her  beauty,  sometimes  ventured  to  improve  on 
nature.  My  father  looked  upon  this  as  disloyal  rivalry: 
paint  against  paint.  One  morning,  the  young  lady  arrived 
with  so  high  a  color,  that  much  embarrassed,  he  said:  "My 
dear  child,  you  must  have  walked  too  fast,  you  are  so 
flushed  that  I  must  put  off  the  sitting  until  to-morrow  — 
when  I  beg  you  to  come  in  a  carriage."  At  the  following 
sitting,  she  was  less  "flushed." 

At  times  my  father  went  here  or  there,  professionally.  In 


158  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Washington,  Lincoln  sat  to  him  for  the  fine  portrait  which, 
with  many  others,  is  in  the  Newberry  Library.  Generals 
Grant  and  Sherman,  and  Admiral  Porter  also  sat  to  him. 
He  was  then  meditating  the  picture  called,  "The  Peace- 
makers," which  showed  Lincoln,  Grant,  Sherman,  and  Por- 
ter on  the  River  Queen,  discussing  the  conditions  of  peace. 
This  picture  was  destroyed  when  the  Calumet  Club,  to 
which  it  belonged,  was  burned  to  the  ground. 

The  great  excitement  of  those  years  was  the  building 
and  opening  of  Chicago's  first  opera  house.  Even  as  I  reflect 
upon  it,  I  cannot  quite  make  out  why  the  excitement  should 
have  been  so  universal,  as  well  as  so  intense.  Of  course,  it 
was  a  justifiable  subject  of  pride  to  our  young  town  to 
possess  as  fine  a  theater  as  could  be  found  in  the  eastern 
cities  and,  as  I  remember  it,  the  house  was  not  only  large 
and  commodious,  but  very  harmonious  in  all  its  details. 
These,  however,  were  minor  considerations.  It  was  built, 
not  by  a  company,  but  by  one  man,  a  society  man,  Mr. 
Crosby.  He  had  a  great  fortune,  of  course,  otherwise,  he 
could  not  have  built  the  Crosby  Opera  House.  According  to 
my  remembrance  of  him,  he  was  neither  handsome,  nor 
fascinating.  There  were  many  men  in  Chicago,  even  then, 
richer  than  he  proved  to  be,  but  they  dwindled  into  insignif- 
icance in  his  presence.  I  do  not  pretend  to  solve  this  mys- 
tery. It  was  so,  because  it  was  so.  He  possessed  a  fine  turn- 
out, with  two  high-bred  horses  that  he  drove  himself.  The 
palpitating  question  of  the  day  was:  "Whom  is  Mr.  Crosby 
going  to  take  out?" 

It  was  the  fashion  in  those  primitive  times  for  young 
girls  to  go  out  with  young  men,  even  to  the  theater  or  to 
balls.  When  my  sister  first  came  out,  a  very  well-known 


FORGOTTEN   CHICAGO  159 

society  man  asked  her  to  go  to  the  opera  with  him:  "Thank 
you,"  she  said,  "but  we  are  all  going  with  Papa."  At  which 
he  stared  at  her  in  amazement,  and  when  it  was  understood 
that  we  were  "Frenchified"  enough  never  to  go  anywhere 
without  our  parents,  the  amazement  turned  to  something 
like  indignation.  This  was  one  of  the  things  which,  in  our 
society  life,  was  singularly  against  us. 

Naturally,  when  the  time  came  for  the  opening  night  of 
the  Crosby  Opera  House,  at  which  we  all  assisted,  public 
curiosity  was  on  tiptoe  to  discover  who  was  the  fortunate 
belle  who  would  be  brought  in  by  the  hero  of  the  evening. 
It  was  Miss  Mattie  Hill,  a  remarkably  beautiful  and  stylish 
girl,  whom,  in  advance,  we  dubbed  Mrs.  Crosby.  But  Mrs. 
Crosby  she  never  became.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  opera 
given  on  that  occasion  was  Martha.,  and  beautifully  given  it 
was,  with  Clara  Louise  Kellogg,  Brignoli,  Susini,  and 
others  in  the  cast  whose  names  escape  me.  The  old-fash- 
ioned music,  light  and  graceful,  —  long  before  the  Wagner 
craze  and  certainly  long  before  the  Strauss  madness,  — 
was  a  delight  to  this  unsophisticated  audience. 

Mr.  Crosby's  extraordinary  triumph  came  to  a  sudden 
collapse,  how  or  why,  I  have  never  understood.  I  suppose 
his  great  venture  had  ruined  him. 

At  about  the  same  period,  a  big  bazaar,  The  Sanitary 
Fair,  was  held  by  society  women  for  the  relief  of  the  war 
victims.  We  helped  in  one  of  the  booths.  General  Sherman, 
fresh  from  his  Georgia  raid,  was  in  Chicago  just  then  and 
was  the  hero  of  the  moment.  My  father  and  he  were  de- 
voted friends,  and  later  his  daughters  and  we  became  quite 
intimate,  especially  during  the  Shermans'  stay  in  Rome. 
So  he  patronized  our  booth  and  gave  us  many  of  his  mili- 


160  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

tary  buttons,  which  we  sold  at  a  good  price.  On  one  occa- 
sion, I  think  it  was  General  Grant  who  addressed  the  au- 
dience from  a  platform.  The  crowd  was  so  great  that  it 
was  almost  alarming.  We  were  protected  by  our  counter, 
but  those  just  outside  seemed  in  danger  of  being  crushed. 
A  young  man,  whom  I  recognized  as  a  member  of  the 
Italian  Opera  company,  jumped  over  the  counter,  among 
our  pretty,  useless  knick-knacks,  and  landed  at  my  side. 
When  he  discovered  that  I  spoke  French  fluently,  his  joy 
knew  no  bounds  and  he  straightway  began  making  des- 
perate love  to  me,  declaring  that  American  girls  were  far 
too  charming  to  marry  American  business  men.  I  was  im- 
mensely amused  and  perhaps  —  who  knows?  —  a  little 
flattered,  not  having  been  over-spoiled  by  masculine  hom- 
age. When  I  try  to  recall  the  singer's  name,  or  even  his 
looks,  I  fail  to  do  so. 

And  here  is  a  very  different  picture.  One  March  day 
came  the  sudden,  terrifying,  tragic  news  of  Lincoln's  assas- 
sination. It  was  as  though  each  and  all  of  us  had  lost  one 
near  and  dear.  A  whole  nation  weeping  is  a  tremendous  and 
magnificent  sight.  I  do  not  know  how  it  was  accomplished, 
but  scarcely  had  the  news  come  to  be  understood,  than 
Chicago  was  draped  in  black:  every  shop,  every  house,  had 
its  signs  of  mourning.  How  so  much  black  material  had 
been  instantly  found,  I  cannot  tell,  but  the  fact  remains. 

With  this  picture  of  universal  sorrow  my  souvenirs  of 
American  life  come  to  an  end. 

My  father,  terribly  overworked,  needed  a  long  rest,  and 
my  mother  decided  that  the  only  way  to  force  the  paint 
brushes  from  his  hand  was  to  go  back  to  Europe  for  a  year 
or  two.  This  "rest"  lasted  until  1892,  with  many  a  journey 


FORGOTTEN  CHICAGO  161 

to  and  fro  for  him  alone,  except  when  my  mother,  with 
one  or  two  of  the  younger  girls,  accompanied  him.  He  was 
already  an  old  man  when  he  decided  that  he  wanted  to 
return  to  his  native  land  and  to  die  there.  The  end  came 
in  1894. 


X 

A  KENTUCKY  COLONY 

BY  CARTER  H.  HARRISON 

IF  you  will  look  at  the  map  of  Chicago,  you  will  find 
a  subdivision  marked  down  as  Ashland  Second  Addi- 
tion to  Chicago.  Just  what  its  boundaries  are,  has  es- 
caped my  mind,  and  I  used  to  class  myself  as  a  pretty 
fair  real-estate  man  at  that.  The  old  Harrison  homestead, 
which  formerly  stood  at  the  southwest  corner  of  Ashland 
Avenue  and  Jackson  Street,  however,  was  within  this 
territory. 

In  my  boyhood  days  Ashland  Avenue  was  known  as 
Reuben  Street.  When  " Hey!  Rube!'*  came  into  its  great- 
est vogue  as  a  term  of  ridicule  and  reproach,  the  name  of 
the  street,  upon  petition  of  its  sorely-tried  residents,  was 
changed  to  that  of  the  subdivision. 

The  name  of  Ashland  was  taken  from  the  country  home 
of  Kentucky's  greatest  statesman,  Henry  Clay.  The  "Mill- 
boy  of  the  Slashes"  lived  and  died  at  Ashland,  the  splendid 
mansion  on  the  outskirts  of  Lexington,  Kentucky,  the 
shade  of  whose  ash  trees  still  mellows  the  fresh  green  of  its 
blue-grass  lawns. 

As  may  readily  be  assumed,  the  subdividers  were  Ken- 
tuckians  —  clear-eyed,  sharp-witted,  big-hearted  Kentuck- 
ians  —  lovers  of  man  and  beast,  sons  of  the  farm  whose 
affections  naturally  ran  to  trees  and  flowers,  to  horses,  dogs, 
and  chickens ;  to  the  pleasures  of  a  hospitable  table,  groan- 


A  KENTUCKY  COLONY  163 

ing  under  the  weight  of  good  things  to  eat  and  drink  for 
the  elders;  to  the  joys  of  the  dance  for  the  young  people. 

In  the  days  of  which  I  write,  Reuben  Street  was  a  dirt 
road  bordered  on  either  side  by  a  deep  ditch  to  carry  away 
the  surface  water  —  no  light  task  in  the  early  spring  weather 
of  nearly  a  half -century  ago  when,  from  the  scattered 
houses  which  fringed  the  rambling  city  as  far  as  the  Des 
Plaines  River  ten  miles  away,  the  prairies,  flooded  knee- 
deep,  became  a  lake. 

South  of  Union  Park  to  the  Burlington  tracks  at  Six- 
teenth Street  —  the  limits  of  my  boyish  territorial  ken  — 
there  were  seven  houses  in  Reuben  Street. 

At  the  southeast  corner  of  Madison  Street  and  what  is 
now  known  as  Ogden  Avenue,  stood  the  rambling  frame 
structure  of  the  Washingtonian  Home.  In  the  earlier  days, 
this  had  been  the  Bull's  Head  Tavern,  the  hostelry  for  the 
first  Stock  Yards  of  Chicago.  In  the  late  fifties  the  Stock 
Yards  were  moved  to  Bridgeport,  their  present  location, 
and  the  old  tavern  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  Washing- 
tonian Home.  For  years  this  corner  was  the  western  ter- 
minus of  the  Madison  Street  car-line  with  its  seagoing,  one- 
horse  rattle-traps,  whose  drivers  had  imposed  upon  them 
the  double  duty  of  serving  as  money-changer  and  con- 
ductor! There  were  no  street-car  men's  unions  in  those 
days! 

About  1874,  when  the  Home  became  financially  able  to 
erect  its  present  structure,  the  old  building  was  moved 
away  to  some  site  in  the  northwestern  section  of  the  city 
—  just  where,  I  have  never  been  able  to  learn.  But  "some- 
where in  Chicago"  the  historic  structure  may  still  be  stand- 
ing, its  erstwhile  glory  gone,  a  forgotten  relic  of  early  days 


164  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

when  farmers  and  cattle-breeders  were  wont  to  come  to 
town  on  the  old  plank  road  to  meet  stockmen  and  packers 
at  trade  by  day,  to  enjoy  by  night  the  bright  lights  of  what 
was  then  but  little  more  than  a  frontier  town. 

There  was  as  yet  no  Ogden  Avenue  to  perpetuate  the 
name  and  memory  of  Chicago's  first  mayor.  The  street  was 
notorious  as  the  Southwestern  Plank  Road,  compared  with 
which  the  corduroy  "tote-roads"  of  the  lumbermen  in 
the  pine-woods  country  would  seem  veritable  boulevards. 

There  were  then  seven  houses  in  Reuben  Street.  One  of 
these  was  "the  chicken- woman's, "  at  the  southwest  corner 
of  Reuben  and  Monroe  streets.  She  probably  had  aether 
name  —  a  good  old  Irish  patronymic  on  the  order  of 
O'Brien,  Mclnerney  or  Gallagher:  I  did  not  know  it.  She 
was  "the  chicken-woman"  to  all  of  us.  Her  home,  an  eye- 
sore to  the  neighborhood,  was  a  tumble-down  frame  shack, 
fenced  in  with  a  dilapidated  barricade  originally  intended 
to  keep  her  two  cows,  her  goats,  and  her  geese  within  an 
enclosure,  but  which,  long  since  fallen  to  pieces,  had  ceased 
to  serve  its  purpose. 

If  I  close  my  eyes  to-day,  even  after  all  these  years,  I 
can  see  myself,  a  barefooted  boy,  crossing  the  road  to  give 
the  dogs  on  the  place  a  wide  berth;  the  hissing  of  her 
geese,  the  quacking  of  her  ducks,  and  the  clatter  of  her 
chickens  still  ring  in  my  ears. 

The  first  of  the  old  homes  of  the  district  was  built  by 
Henry  H.  Honore,  who,  in  1916,  passed  away  at  the  age  of 
ninety-two  years,  one  of  the  most  vigorous,  most  public- 
spirited,  most  ambitious,  most  progressive  of  the  men  Ken- 
tucky contributed  to  the  up-building  and  development  of 
Chicago.  He  built  at  the  southwest  corner  of  Reuben  and 


A  KENTUCKY  COLONY  165 

Jackson  streets.  For  years  the  mansion,  for  such  it  really 
was,  served  as  a  landmark  of  the  West  Side;  its  breezy 
air  of  hospitality,  its  jutting  bay-windows,  its  spacious  pil- 
lared front  porch,  its  cupola,  and  its  cheery,  smiling  grounds 
are  still  remembered  by  old-time  Chicagoans. 

Judge  John  G.  Rogers,  another  good  Kentuckian,  father 
of  the  late  George  Mills  Rogers,  of  Mrs.  Samuel  P.  McCon- 
nell,  and  of  Mrs.  Joseph  M.  Rogers,  built  a  home  and  lived  at 
the  corner  of  Monroe  and  Honore  streets.  Somewhere  in  the 
same  neighborhood  were  the  firesides  of  Judge  Samuel  M. 
Moore  and  of  Judge  Murray  F.  Tuley.  Farther  west,  at 
the  southwest  corner  of  Madison  and  Robey  streets,  lived 
John  E.  Owsley.  All  were  Kentuckians  and  prominent  in  the 
early  business  and  political  history  of  the  city.  The  A.  C. 
Badger  home  at  the  southwest  corner  of  Reuben  Street  and 
Tyler  (as  Congress  Street  was  then  known)  had  been  built 
by  another  Kentuckian,  Colonel  Winchester.  A.  C.  Badger 
was  the  father  of  Mrs.  Turlington  Harvey,  of  Mrs.  Robert 
L.  Henry,  and  of  the  famous  beauty  of  those  days,  Eva, 
who  became  the  wife  of  Charles  Angell.  At  the  corner  of 
Sangamon  and  Van  Buren  streets  lived  Judge  Morris,  the 
second  mayor  of  Chicago,  whose  wife  played  such  a  prom- 
inent part  in  helping  the  rebel  prisoners  at  Camp  Douglas. 

My  father,  in  those  early  days,  lived  in  the  home  he  him- 
self had  built  at  the  southwest  corner  of  Hermitage  Avenue 
and  Tyler  Street,  to  which  he  moved  in  1860  from  the 
Boardman  House,  a  fashionable  pension  hotel,  in  which,  by 
the  way,  I  was  born  in  April  of  that  year,  located  and  still 
standing  at  the  southwest  corner  of  Clark  and  Harrison 
streets. 

In  1866  the  Honores  moved  to  Michigan  Avenue  on  the 


166  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

South  Side  and  were  thus  the  first  in  the  long  line  of  those 
who  established  the  fashion  of  peregrinations  of  west  siders 
to  the  more  modish  districts  of  the  North  and  South  sides. 
Our  family  thereupon  moved  to  the  quarters  vacated  by 
the  Honore  family  which  my  father  had  bought,  and  our 
old  Hermitage  Avenue  home  passed  into  other  hands,  final- 
ly to  be  torn  down  to  make  room  for  the  buildings  of 
the  Presbyterian  Hospital. 

The  homes  of  the  Honore,  Winchester,  Owsley,  and  Har- 
rison families  had  grounds  covering  the  entire  blocks  on 
which  they  were  located.  These  Kentuckians  were  farmers' 
boys;  plenty  of  space  and  fresh  air  were  necessities  to  them. 
On  their  grounds  they  kept  their  horses,  cows,  and  chickens, 
and  here  they  had  their  gardens  in  which  all  the  family 
vegetables  were  raised.  My  father,  a  farmer  to  his  finger- 
tips, went  further  in  this  path  perhaps  than  any  of  the 
others,  for  he  cured  all  the  hams  and  the  bacon  needed  for 
his  family  use. 

And  I  had  good  cause  to  remember  it.  For  upon  me,  at 
the  early  age  of  eight  to  ten  years,  devolved  the  duty  of 
keeping  the  hickory-wood  fire  ever  alive  upon  the  altar  in 
the  smoke-house.  Speaking  of  a  smudge-fire  in  a  smoke- 
house as  an  altar  may  smack  of  the  irreverential  to  some. 
Let  them  but  remember  that  the  obligation  of  keeping  it 
going  to  an  old  time  Kentuckian  came  close  to  being  a 
religious  ceremony.  They  will  then  pardon  me. 

The  late  fall  and  early  winter  was  hog-killing  time.  Long 
before  daylight  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  roll  out  of  bed 
to  start  the  smudge  for  the  day.  On  many  a  morning  I  had 
to  brush  the  snow  from  the  wood-pile  and  kick  apart  the 
hickory  sticks  which  during  the  frosty  night  had  been 


A  KENTUCKY  COLONY  167 

frozen  into  a  solid  mass.  With  fingers  half -congealed,  with 
eyes  smarting  and  running  copious  tears  from  the  acrid 
smoke,  I  learned  in  the  task  one  lesson  which  has  stood  me 
in  good  stead  during  all  the  years  of  a  busy  life :  the  need  of 
constant  care  and  attention  to  things  if  they  are  going  to 
be  done  right. 

On  the  day  the  body  of  the  martyred  President  Lincoln 
passed  through  Chicago  to  lie  here  in  state,  before  being 
laid  away  in  its  last  resting-place  at  Springfield,  a  terrific 
windstorm,  approaching  a  hurricane  in  its  intensity,  lifted 
the  Hermitage  Avenue  smoke-house  of  my  father  from  its 
underpinning,  and  laid  it  low,  its  framework  and  planking, 
as  well  as  all  its  valuable  contents,  a  jumbled  mass  of 
debris. 

As  Chicago  advanced  in  dignity  and  prosperity,  Reuben 
Street  became  Ashland  Avenue  and  the  old  homestead  was 
given  a  street  number  —  at  first  163,  later  231  Ashland 
Avenue.  Here  our  family  lived  from  1866  to  1904  with  the 
exception  of  three  years,  from  1873  to  1876  to  be  exact, 
which  we  spent  in  Germany. 

During  these  three  years  the  home  was  occupied  by 
Samuel  J.  Walker  and  his  family.  He  was  also  a  Kentuckian, 
one  of  the  breeziest  of  all  the  dashing  real-estate  operators 
of  the  early  days  in  the  Windy  City,  the  father  of  Judge 
Charles  M.  Walker,  of  the  present  Cook  County  Circuit 
Court,  and  of  Dr.  S.  J.  Walker,  also  of  Chicago. 

A  fine  lot  of  hams  and  sides  of  bacon,  all  sugar-cured  in 
the  most  approved  Kentucky  style,  as  well  as  a  quantity 
of  home-made  sausages,  were  left  for  the  delectation  of  the 
Walker  family  palates. 

In  the  dining-room  of  this  old  home  on  the  night  of 


168  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

October  28,  1893,  in  the  closing  hours  of  the  World's  Fair, 
at  which  he  had  put  in  a  busy  day,  my  father  passed  away 
—  the  victim  of  an  assassin's  bullet.  Thenceforth  the  old 
home  had  such  trying  memories  of  his  tragic  death,  that 
none  of  his  children  cared  to  live  there,  jeven  had  they 
been  able  to  afford  to  keep  up  the  roomy  house  and  spacious 
grounds  in  the  old  accustomed  manner. 

As  a  child  I  used  to  hear  an  interesting  story  connected 
with  the  building  of  the  old  home.  The  building  was  up, 
the  roof  almost  shingled  when,  for  some  reason,  the  carpen- 
ters quit  work.  Whether  it  was  a  forerunner  of  the  modern 
strike,  the  result  of  a  disagreement,  or  just  an  ordinary 
laying  down  of  the  tools  on  a  job,  I  do  not  know.  It  is 
enough  for  the  purpose  of  the  story  that  the  men  stopped 
their  labors  while  the  roof  remained  incomplete.  A  thunder- 
storm was  brewing.  Black  clouds  lay  off  in  the  southwest, 
darkening  the  skies.  It  was  important  that  the  shingling  of 
the  roof  be  completed  before  the  storm  should  break.  So 
in  good,  neighborly,  whole-souled  Kentucky  fashion,  Mr. 
Honore  commandeered  the  services  of  his  friends,  among 
whom  were  Colonel  Winchester,  John  G.  Rogers,  and  my 
father.  Off  went  coats  and  collars  and  in  a  short  while  the 
remaining  shingles  were  laid  and  the  roofing  completed. 

Now  comes  the  nub  of  the  story.  While  the  work  was  in 
progress,  at  the  corner  of  Reuben  and  Harrison  streets, 
only  three  blocks  away,  the  sheriff  of  Cook  County  was 
publicly  executing  a  criminal,  and  Mr.  Honore  furnished 
his  guests  with  an  opera-glass  that  they  might  take  turns 
in  watching  proceedings  and,  incidentally,  that  he  might 
keep  them  on  the  job ! 

The  Honores'  and  Winchesters'  were  two  of  the  seven 


A  KENTUCKY   COLONY  169 

Reuben  Street  homes.  At  the  southwest  corner  of  Adams 
Street  lived  S.  S.  Hayes,  the  donor  to  Chicago  of  Union 
Park;  not  a  Kentuckian,  but  having  many  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  that  strong  race.  At  the  northeast  corner  of 
Jackson  Street,  lived  Henry  Waller,  who,  with  his  brothers, 
James  B.,  Edward,  and  William,  did  their  share  towards 
keeping  up  the  traditions  of  the  Kentucky  builders  of 
Chicago.  At  the  northeast  corner  of  Van  Buren  Street  the 
house,  still  standing  on  the  spot,  was  built  in  the  later  sixties; 
it  remained  idle  for  some  years,  for  reasons  unknown  to 
me  until  finally  it  became  the  home  of  Jasper  D.  Ward,  who 
served  two  terms  in  Congress  from  the  old  west-side  dis- 
trict. Halfway  between  Van  Buren  and  Tyler  streets,  on 
the  west  side  of  the  street,  stood  the  W.  S.  Bryan  home. 
This  completed  the  roll-call  of  Reuben  Street  houses  prior 
to  1866. 

The  two  blocks  east  of  us  from  Reuben  Street  to  Loomis 
Street  were  vacant  prairie.  Like  all  the  other  land  of  the 
neighborhood,  what  with  the  rains  and  melting  snows,  these 
blocks  were  flooded  deep  all  winter  long  and  here  we  had 
our  skating-rink.  In  the  summer-time  they  served  as  cow- 
pastures  for  the  milch-cows  of  the  neighbors,  except  on  rare 
occasions  when  a  baseball  game  was  played  by  the  better 
known  nines  of  the  city. 

I  recall,  for  instance,  how  just  before  July  4,  1868,  an  im- 
posing grandstand,  capable  of  seating  at  least  two  hundred 
people,  was  erected  in  the  block  between  Reuben,  Jackson, 
Van  Buren  and  Laflin  streets.  On  the  Fourth,  the  ball  play- 
ers with  their  friends,  families,  and  sweethearts  drove  out 
in  buggies,  barouches,  rockaways  and  omnibuses  and  an 
exciting  game  was  played  between  —  was  it  the  Excelsiors 


170  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

and  the  Eurekas?  —  ending  in  a  score  of  something  like 
98  to  87!  I  was  hired  at  the  princely  pay  of  "two  bits"  to 
pass  the  pink  lemonade  to  players  and  guests  between 
innings,  as  well  as  to  chase  foul  balls  during  the  progress  of 
the  game. 

The  frozen,  flooded  prairies  made  it  possible  for  the  boys 
and  girls  to  skate  miles  and  miles  over  ice,  wind-swept  until 
it  was  free  of  snow  and  smooth  as  glass,  even  to  Riverside 
and  the  Des  Plaines  River,  ten  miles  to  the  west  of  us  —  in 
the  latter  case,  however,  only  when  we  were  in  sufficient 
numbers  to  protect  ourselves  from  those  we  were  wont  to 
term  the  "Micks."  These  were  sturdy,  aggressive  young- 
sters, whose  homes  were  along  the  C.  B.  &  Q.  tracks.  They 
were  better  skaters  and  better  fighters  than  we.  As  good 
skaters,  the  "Micks"  had  an  artist's  admiration  and  an 
amateur's  coveting  for  the  Barney  &  Berry  club-skates  on 
which  we  more  prosperous  children  of  fortune  were  accus- 
tomed to  flash  about  in  all  the  intricacies  of  the  "double 
roll"  and  "spreading  the  eagle." 

In  the  good-humored,  daredevil,  Celtic  faces  of  some  of 
Chicago's  old-time  "cops"  from  time  to  time  I  have  caught 
a  fleeting  hint,  an  ephemeral  suggestion  of  resemblance  to 
a  face  I  have  known  in  trying  circumstances  in  the  long  ago. 
Is  it  possible  that  as  mayor  I  have  been  called  upon  to  com- 
mand policemen  who  in  our  mutual  boyhood  days  had  put 
the  fear  of  God  into  my  heart,  before  whose  fiery  attack  I 
had  shown  my  heels  in  reckless  flight? 

There  was  fresh  air  a-plenty  in  the  Ashland  Avenue  sec- 
tion in  these  early  days.  The  cupola  on  our  home  was  a 
favorite  stamping-ground  for  the  children,  because  from 
it  great  vistas  of  things  unknown,  and  therefore  alluring, 


A  KENTUCKY   COLONY  171 

opened  up  in  every  direction.  It  was  one  of  my  boyish 
joys  to  sit  there,  high  above  the  street,  opera-glass  to  my 
eyes,  and  watch  the  life  that  went  on  about  me. 

In  the  morning,  in  a  cloud  of  dust  on  fair  days,  in  a  sea 
of  mud  when  the  weather  was  "soft,"  the  cow-man  took  his 
herd  of  milch-cows  out  on  Harrison  Street  to  pasture  on  the 
rich  prairie-grasses  somewhere  out  west,  to  bring  them  home 
again  by  the  same  route  in  the  evening.  In  the  herd  there 
would  be  a  hundred  or  more  cows  owned  either  by  milkmen, 
or  by  the  prosperous  Irish  residents  of  the  territory  ad- 
jacent to  the  Jesuit  Church  in  Twelfth  Street. 

To  this  church,  by  the  way,  there  was  a  well-beaten 
footpath,  striking  catty-cornered  across  the  prairie  blocks 
from  Reuben  and  Van  Buren  streets,  for  St.  Jarlath's 
Church  had  not  yet  been  built  and  the  Jesuit  Church,  a 
good  mile  away,  was  the  nearest  sanctuary  for  the  Catholic 
faithful  of  our  neighborhood,  as  well  as  of  the  section  to 
the  west  of  us. 

Still  farther  to  the  south  our  childish  eyes  could  watch 
the  trains  moving  east  and  west  along  the  Burlington 
tracks  in  Sixteenth  Street.  To  the  west  there  were  a  few 
houses :  our  first  home  at  Hermitage  Avenue  and  Congress 
Street;  the  Jennings  home  in  Marshfield  Avenue;  immedi- 
ately behind  us,  in  Hermitage  Avenue  near  Adams  Street, 
a  charming  old  place  belonging  to  a  family  whose  name  I 
have  forgotten;  the  Hugh  Maher  place  at  Ogden  Avenue 
and  Adams  Street,  where  stands  to-day  the  Mary  Thomp- 
son Hospital ;  the  Silver  Leaf  Grove,  a  good  old-fashioned 
beer-garden,  at  Ogden  Avenue  near  Twelfth  Street;  as  well 
as  scattered  homes  in  Monroe  Street.  The  houses  were  so 
few  and  far  between,  however,  that  with  the  glasses,  from 


172  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

our  old  home  I  have  watched  croquet  games  in  the  Owsley 
yard  at  Madison  and  Robey  streets ! 

Every  Sunday  morning  in  the  summer  season  there  would 
be  a  picnic  of  some  German  society  either  at  the  Silver  Leaf 
Grove,  or  in  another  beer-garden  of  the  same  type  in  Mad- 
ison Street  near  Western  Avenue.  Out  on  Madison  Street  the 
procession  would  move,  with  band  playing  and  flags  flying; 
the  leaders  on  horseback,  the  well-to-do,  the  women  and 
children  in  open  barouches,  buggies  or  rockaways,  hoi  polloi 
on  foot,  trudging  vigorously  to  get  up  a  good  thirst.  Bayern 
or  Schwaben,  Singing  Society  or  Turngemeinde,  the  pro- 
cession would  move  to  the  distant  garden  where  the  day 
would  be  spent  in  a  round  of  singing,  laughter,  eating, 
drinking  and  dancing,  with  a  few  speeches  interpolated  in 
memory  of  the  Fatherland  beyond  the  seas. 

The  Kentuckian's  hospitality  and  his  love  of  social  life 
are  proverbial,  whether  he  remains  in  his  native  State,  or 
whether  he  moves  his  Lares  et  Penates  abroad  in  quest  of 
fortune.  The  Kentuckians  who  came  to  Chicago  brought 
with  them  all  the  characteristics  of  their  sturdy  stock.  I  was 
too  young  for  my  mind  to  carry  more  than  the  faintest 
recollections  of  the  social  pleasures  of  the  early  days. 

Indeed,  to  folk  of  these  days  of  the  Casino  and  the  Saddle 
and  Cycle  clubs,  the  Assemblies,  and  the  Butchers  and 
Bakers  balls  at  the  Virginia,  and  coming-out  parties  at  the 
Blackstone,  the  social  life  'way  west  of  the  river  in  the 
sixties  would  seem  hopelessly  crude. 

The  principal  dances  were  given  by  a  social  organization 
known  as  "The  Grasshoppers."  The  try  sting  place  alter- 
nated in  the  spacious  parlors  of  the  old  homes.  Round- 
dance  and  square-dance  took  turn  and  turn  about  until  at 


A  KENTUCKY  COLONY  173 

eleven  o'clock  the  musicians  struck  up  the  supper-march, 
when  all  the  guests  lined  up  in  gay  and  formal  array  to 
move  with  dignified  step  to  the  dining-room,  where  the 
center-table  was  weighed  down  with  great  dishes  of  chicken 
salad,  escalloped  oysters,  sandwiches  of  various  kinds, 
coffee  and  chocolate,  oranges  and  Malaga  grapes,  ice- 
cream and  cakes. 

The  grapes  always  carried  a  powdering  left  over  from 
the  sawdust  in  which  they  had  been  packed  for  the  long 
journey  across  the  seas  from  far-away  Spain. 

English  walnuts  in  those  days,  be  it  remembered,  came 
from  England  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name.  A  barrel  of  apples, 
of  hickory  nuts,  butternuts  or  walnuts,  each  in  its  appro- 
priate season,  for  us  youngsters  was  a  genuine  treat.  As  for 
oranges  and  bananas,  these  fruits  were  real  luxuries.  There 
was  no  cold-storage  transportation.  Communication  with 
the  semi-tropics,  because  of  its  infrequency,  was  a  negligible 
quantity.  Florida  fruit-lands  had  not  yet  been  developed. 
California  was  still  an  arid  waste.  There  was  no  Imperial 
Valley  to  glut  the  market  with  early  melons.  Grape-fruit, 
casabas  and  honey-dew  melons  had  not  yet  been  dreamed  of. 

This  reminds  me  that  years  ago,  in  Pasadena,  I  asked  a 
waitress  where  the  casaba  melon  came  from.  "Oh! "she 
answered,  "it's  one  of  Burbank's  freaks  —  a  cross  between 
a  cantaloupe  and  a  cucumber!" 

Toward  the  end  of  the  sixties  William  Waller,  eldest  son 
of  our  neighbor,  married  a  Louisiana  belle.  One  Christmas 
her  father  sent  her  a  box  of  Creole  oranges.  Well  do  I  remem- 
ber the  envy  and  the  heart  burnings  with  which  I  watched 
Jim  Waller,1  William's  youngest  brother,  take  a  big  yellow 

1  James  Breckenridge  Waller,  a  well-known  Chicagoan  of  to-day. 


174  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

orange  from  his  pocket  during  the  recess  at  school,  peel  it 
with  critical  care  and  eat  it  slowly  down  to  the  last  shred. 
Even  the  discarded  peeling  seemed  a  delicacy  to  me! 

In  the  beginning  the  merrymakers  were  married  couples, 
still  too  young  to  have  children  of  an  age  to  sit  up  to  the 
late  hours  of  the  festivities.  Gradually  the  children  grew 
up  and  became  young  men  and  young  women,  supplanting 
their  parents  in  the  social  life  of  the  community. 

When  the  "Grasshopper"  dances  were  held  at  his  home, 
by  the  way,  Mr.  Honore  was  wont  to  place  a  lamp  in  the 
cupola  high  above  the  street,  that  its  cheery  rays  of  welcome 
and  promised  hospitality  might  light  the  way  of  the  guests 
across  the  open  prairie.  The  Reuben  Street  community  was 
a  sparsely  settled  section  of  the  city,  but  socially  quite  on 
a  footing  with  the  gay  life  of  the  North  and  South  sides. 
Only  in  later  years  did  it  become  the  fashion  to  ignore  the 
great  West  Side  as  the  social  Brooklyn  of  Chicago! 

In  all  likelihood  there  were  young  people  who  took  part  in 
the  merry-makings  of  the  group  in  the  early  sixties.  Who 
were  they?  I  do  not  know.  Not  until  the  two  or  three  years 
prior  to  the  great  fire  of  1871  do  names  appear  in  the  social 
life,  headed  by  the  west-side  colony  of  Kentuckians,  which 
I  am  able  to  recall.  Colonel  Nelson  Thomasson,  Edward  C. 
Waller,  Henry  H.  Walker,  Adrian  and  Harry  Honore,  Harry 
Rogers,  were  some  of  the  young  beaux  whose  names  occur 
to  me.  The  beautiful  Bertha  Honore  (later  Mrs.  Potter 
Palmer),  the  equally  beautiful  Eva  Badger,  who  married 
Charlie  Angell,  and  her  elder  sister  Belle,  who  became  Mrs. 
T.  W.  Harvey,  Judith  Waller  (now  Mrs.  William  Johnston), 
and  her  elder  sisters  were  among  the  most  attractive  of  the 
young  women. 


A  KENTUCKY  COLONY  175 

What  old-timer  can  ever  forget  the  feverish  joys  of  New 
Year's  Day  in  the  sixties?  Few  were  the  houses  to  hang  out 
a  basket  as  a  receptacle  for  the  cards  of  those  who  wished 
to  call  —  an  inhospitable  way  of  telling  callers  that  the  doors 
of  the  mansion  for  the  day  were  closed  to  them !  Practically 
every  family  kept  open  house.  The  front  doors  were  con- 
stantly opening  and  closing,  as  the  throng  of  visitors,  young 
and  old,  entered  into  the  realms  of  hospitality  beyond, 
regaled  themselves  with  the  good  things  provided  for  the 
inner  man,  and  proceeded  on  their  joyous  way  to  visit 
other  friends  until  the  early  hours  of  morning.  How  they 
ever  carried  the  food  they  ate,  the  drinks  they  imbibed, 
was  a  mystery  to  my  young  mind.  Great  bowls  of  egg-nog  of 
the  good  old  kind,  made  of  genuine  Bourbon  and  "with  a 
stick  in  it"  and  no  mistake,  stood  on  every  sideboard.  In 
some  homes  port  and  sherry,  a  rare  bottle  of  champagne, 
but  many  a  jug  of  an  especial  distillation  of  Kentucky 
corn- juice,  were  at  hand  to  add  their  potency  to  the  egg-nog 
in  rendering  the  callers  hors  de  combat,  and  incidentally  in 
bringing  the  custom  of  New  Year's  calls  into  such  disrepute 
that  finally  public  opinion  forced  its  abandonment. 

While  not  strictly  in  line  with  the  life  I  am  describing,  it 
might  not  be  amiss  for  me  to  recall  that  in  1866  the  second 
annual  banquet  (or  was  it  the  first?)  of  the  Chicago  Yale 
Club  was  held  in  the  parlor  of  our  old  home  at  Ashland 
Avenue  and  Jackson  Street.  Among  the  songs  which,  with 
my  ear  at  the  keyhole,  I  heard  this  night  for  the  first  time, 
the  rollicking  refrain  of  "Upidee!  Upida!"  stands  out  the 
freshest  in  my  memory. 

The  winter  cold  of  the  earlier  days  must  have  been  more 
intense,  the  snowfall  greater,  than  what  we  now  experience. 


176  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

I  have  seen  the  snow-drifts  in  our  side  yard  so  deep,  that 
when  a  way  had  been  shovelled  for  the  horse  and  cutter  to 
reach  the  street,  my  father's  slouch  hat  could  just  be  seen 
as  he  held  the  reins  over  his  spirited  trotter  dancing  gaily 
to  the  music  of  the  jangling  bells.  It  was  my  duty  at  this 
period  to  help  shovel  the  sidewalks  clear  of  snow  of  a  Satur- 
day morning.  The  unwilling  labor  in  which  I  was  forced  to 
indulge,  while  the  other  boys  were  skating  on  the  prairie 
across  the  street,  may  have  something  to  do  with  my  recol- 
lections as  to  the  depth  of  the  snowfall!  As  an  evidence  of 
the  utter  unreasonableness  of  youngsters,  while  I  detested 
the  job  of  clearing  the  family  walk  of  snow,  in  common  with 
my  companions,  after  every  heavy  fall  it  was  my  practice 
to  shoulder  a  snow-shovel  and  solicit  a  like  job  from  house 
to  house,  a  half -cent  a  foot,  two  bits  for  a  fifty -foot  lot, 
being  "Union  wages!" 

My  sister,  Mrs.  Heaton  Owsley,  recalls  that  in  1864  a 
Kentucky  cousin  visiting  at  our  home  was  taken  sick  and 
died.  Trained  nurses  were  then  aids  unknown.  The  last  sad 
rites  of  laying  out  the  dead  were  not  left  to  the  cold,  un- 
friendly hands  of  the  undertaker.  My  mother  not  being 
well,  it  was  necessary  to  call  upon  a  woman  friend  to  dress 
the  body  for  the  grave.  The  night  was  bitterly  cold;  the 
snow  was  too  deep  in  the  wind-driven,  prairie  drifts  for  a 
horse  to  break  through  without  the  greatest  difficulty. 
There  was  no  alternative  to  my  father's  walking  to  the 
Bryan  home,  five  blocks  away  in  Reuben  Street,  to  ask  aid 
of  an  aunt  of  Mrs.  Bryan,  a  Miss  Rogers  of  Boston.  To- 
gether, Miss  Rogers  in  high  rubber  boots  as  partial  pro- 
tection against  the  drifted  snow,  they  set  out  on  the  slow 
and  painful  return.  Before  the  distance  had  been  half  cov- 


A  KENTUCKY   COLONY  177 

ered,  my  father's  heart  was  cold  with  fear  lest  his  companion 
should  lack  the  strength  to  complete  the  journey.  All  traces 
of  the  road  had  been  obliterated  by  the  swirling  snows; 
the  drifts  were  waist-deep;  the  cold  drove  to  the  very  mar- 
row. It  was  with  a  feeling  of  intense  relief  and  with  thank- 
fulness to  a  kind  and  watchful  Providence  that  he  finally 
opened  the  door  of  his  home  after  an  experience  fraught  with 
the  gravest  dangers. 

In  Union  Park  of  a  summer  Saturday  afternoon,  concerts 
were  frequently  given  between  the  hours  of  five  and  seven 
by  Voss'  band,  Voss  being  the  Johnny  Hand  of  early  Chi- 
cago. Billy  Nevins,  the  "drummer-boy  of  the  Rappahan- 
nock,"  as  I  recall  his  war-time  nickname,  played  the  drum, 
his  pidce  de  resistance  being  an  imitation  of  the  fury  of  a 
battlefield,  the  roll  of  his  drum  for  the  rattle  of  the  musket- 
ry, the  bass  drum  at  regular  intervals  furnishing  the  boom 
of  the  heavy  artillery. 

My  one  ambition  at  this  period  was  to  serve  my  country 
as  a  drummer-boy,  to  lead  my  regiment  until  I  fell,  and 
while  my  own  young  life's  blood  ebbed  slowly  out,  to  hear 
the  victorious  shouts  of  those  who  had  followed  me! 

While  the  band  played,  the  fashion  of  the  neighborhood 
paraded  in  fine  array,  some  strolling,  some  driving  slowly 
in  wide,  open  landaus,  the  populace  in  the  meanwhile  look- 
ing on  in  rapt  admiration.  Union  Park  was  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  of  the  West  Side ! 

There  were  no  more  zealous  patrons  in  Chicago  of  the 
big  doings  in  an  operatic,  theatrical,  and  musical  way  at 
Crosby's  Opera  House  than  these  same  west  siders. 

Ole  Bull,  Edwin  Booth  and  Charlotte  Cushman,  Brignoli, 
Adelina  Patti,  and  Christine  Nilsson,  were  names  to  con- 


178  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

jure  with  among  the  adults.  For  the  younger  generation, 
Wood's  Museum  was  the  scene  of  countless,  ecstatic  de- 
lights. What  boy  of  the  sixties  can  ever  forget  the  min- 
strel shows  at  which  the  four  Billies  —  Rice,  Arlington, 
Manning,  and  Emerson  —  were  the  star  performers  on  the 
bones  and  tambourine? 

Black  Crook,  with  its  frank  display  of  feminine  beauty, 
came  in  these  days  to  Crosby's  Opera  House,  scandalizing 
the  community.  The  women  of  the  period  deplored  beyond 
measure  the  depravity  of  a  performance  which  they  were 
consumed  with  curiosity  to  view  with  their  own  eyes !  What 
excuse  could  they  give  for  patronizing  such  reckless  inde- 
cency? A  happy  thought  suggested  itself.  I  was  of  too  tender 
an  age  to  suffer  injury;  the  bright  colors,  the  merry  music, 
the  kaleidoscopic  shifting  and  changing  of  the  tableaux 
should  prove  instructive  and  educational  to  me  in  an  artis- 
tic sense.  However,  some  form  of  chaperonage  was  im- 
perative. Whereupon  my  mother,  accompanied  by  three 
ladies  of  our  neighborhood,  escorted  poor  little  me  to  the 
Saturday  matinee!  Debutantes  of  to-day  would  turn  up 
their  noses  at  Black  Crook  in  its  mildly-seasoned  spiciness 
and  find  it  deadly  dull. 


XI 

OLD  HYDE  PARK 
BY  MRS.  B.  F.  AYEB 

EARLY  in  the  sixties,  a  jovial  Irishman,  Dr.  William  Brad- 
shaw  Egan,  a  practicing  physician,  ambitious  for  such  an 
estate  as  an  Irish  gentleman  at  home  might  have,  bought  a 
large  tract  of  land  in  the  marshy  wilderness  three  miles 
south  of  Chicago.  It  had  truly  magnificent  proportions  as 
it  extended  from  Lake  Michigan  to  what  is  now  Cottage 
Grove  Avenue,  and  from  Forty-Seventh  Street  to  South 
Chicago.  The  appellation  Cottage  Grove,  by  the  way,  came 
from  a  nameless  early  settler's  cabin  in  the  one  little  clump 
of  trees  which  broke  the  wide,  flat  expanse  of  water-logged 
land  stretching  from  the  river  to  the  southern  horizon. 
With  proper  and  paternal  pride,  Dr.  Egan  called  his  newly 
acquired  tract,  Egandale.  He  selected,  as  a  site  for  his  house 
and  gardens,  the  western  part  of  his  estate.  The  ground 
here  was  somewhat  higher  than  the  surrounding  territory 
and  thus  gave  its  owner  the  semblance  of  a  view.  There  is 
nothing  so  cherished  by  the  dweller  in  a  flat  country  as  an 
eminence,  no  matter  how  insignificant.  At  that  time  no 
other  house,  or  sign  of  man's  occupancy,  was  visible  from 
Dr.  Egan's  "hill-top."  Following  the  customs  of  his  native 
land  he  called  in  the  services  of  a  landscape  gardener,  who 
laid  out  his  grounds  in  quite  a  stately  fashion.  Early  settlers 
remember  the  imposing  rustic  gate  and  lodge  which  opened 
on  Forty-Seventh  Street,  and  which  was  the  formal  en- 


180  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

trance  to  Egandale.  In  the  neighborhood  one  could  walk 
for  miles  in  grassy  lanes  shaded  by  cedar  and  wonderful, 
great  oak-trees.  Some  of  these  endured  for  sixty  years  to 
tell  the  tale,  when  came  so-called  progress  which  uprooted 
them  to  clear  the  ground  for  the  building  of  apartments. 

Dr.  Egan,  being  a  bachelor,  kept  open  house,  where  con- 
vivial friends  met  far  from  the  gossip  of  neighbors.  Though 
he  was  a  genial  man,  his  extensive  real-estate  transactions 
sometimes  made  him  anxious  and  distrait.  The  story  is  told 
that,  when  a  patient  once  asked  of  him  directions  as  to  how 
a  prescription  he  had  given  her  was  to  be  taken,  he  answered, 
"One-third  down,  balance  in  one,  two,  or  three  years." 

Later  Dr.  Egan  returned  to  Ireland  —  possibly  on  ac- 
count of  the  cold  winters  in  Egandale,  but  more  probably  be- 
cause he  found  too  few  of  the  leisure  class  to  en  joy  his  generous 
and  gay  hospitality.  When,  in  the  seventies,  Egandale  was 
subdivided,  the  village  of  Hyde  Park,  the  pioneer  suburb 
to  the  south  of  Chicago,  was  formed. 

Among  the  early  settlers  of  Hyde  Park  were  Charles 
Mather  Smith,1  Lester  Bradner,  J.  Y.  Scammon,  Benjamin 
F.  Ayer,  and  Judge  Van  H.  Higgins,  whose  homes  in  the 
city  were  either  burned  or  made  untenable  by  the  Chicago 
Fire  of  1871.  These  men  bought  large  tracts  of  land  and 
established  their  families  in  what  was  then  open  country. 
Each  land-owner  was  forced  to  provide  for  himself  all  that  is 
usually  cared  for  by  public-utilities  corporations.  There  was 
no  gas,  no  water,  no  sewers,  except  as  furnished  by  the  owner; 
even  the  street  sprinkling  was  a  part  of  his  responsibility 
(my  children  learned  to  drive  by  driving  a  watering-cart). 

1  Father  of  Frederick  Mather  Smith,  Francis  Drexel  Smith,  and  Miss  Mary 
Rozet  Smith. 


OLD  HYDE  PARK  181 

Immediately  after  the  great  Fire  it  was  not  so  difficult 
as  might  appear  to  be  reconciled  to  the  lack  of  such  con- 
veniences as  had  formerly  been  enjoyed  by  city  dwellers. 
The  city  was  gone  and  its  inhabitants,  a  large  proportion 
of  whom  were  left  homeless,  were  obliged  to  find  shelter  in 
the  crowded  and,  often,  primitive  dwellings  left  on  the 
South,  West,  and  far  North  sides. 

We  residents  in  Hyde  Park  were  better  off  than  most  as 
we  had  new  and  commodious  homes,  well-equipped  stables 
and  horses  and  carriages,  which  provided  means  of  trans- 
portation to  the  Illinois  Central  trains,  or  to  the  little 
steam  "dummy"  railroad.  This  latter  primitive  institution 
connected  with  the  south-side  horse-cars  which  carried  the 
citizens  of  that  day  from  Thirty-Ninth  to  Lake  Street. 

By  these  routes  we  were  enabled  to  reach  the  center  of 
the  city  for  shopping  or  amusements.  We  were,  however, 
fairly  independent  of  the  social  pleasures  offered  in  other 
parts  of  Chicago.  In  our  little  community  there  were  many 
opportunities  for  relaxation. 

It  has  been  said,  "All  the  pleasant  things  of  life  are  either 
unwholesome,  expensive,  or  wrong  —  some  of  them  all 
three."  Our  life  in  the  era  of  which  I  write,  looked  at  in 
retrospect,  seems  to  me  to  challenge  the  truth  of  this  state- 
ment. We  certainly  had  lots  of  wholesome,  inexpensive, 
harmless  fun  in  old  Hyde  Park  with  the  group  of  notable 
personalities  that  chance  had  brought  together  there. 

Perhaps  those  early  forms  of  entertainment  would  not 
appeal  to  the  folk  of  to-day.  The  mad  passion  for  gaiety 
and  artificial  excitement,  which  at  present  characterizes 
pleasure,  had  not  yet  absorbed  our  social  life.  We  had 
lectures;  we  had  charades;  we  had  no  balls  but  many 


182  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

dances  —  at  least  that  was  what  we  called  them.  No  one 
thought  himself  or  herself  too  old  or  too  proud  to  dance  at 
these  parties.  The  Virginia  reel  was  a  favorite  and  was 
generally  a  long  reel.  The  Presbyterians,  while  they  did  not 
really  oppose  dancing,  would  only  slip  in  "just  to  look  on." 

Dominoes,  checkers,  and,  later,  spelling-bees,  were  among 
our  quiet,  home  diversions.  Whist  was  often  played  —  "a 
bright  fire,  a  clean  hearth,  and  the  rigor  of  the  game" 
prevailed,  and  the  evening  frequently  closed  with  music, 
all  joining  in  singing  the  soul-stirring  strains  of  "John 
Brown's  Body,"  or  telling  what  that  valiant  man,  "Captain 
Jenks,  of  the  Horse  Marines,"  accomplished.  As  Hyde 
Park  had  no  gas  till  1871,  and  no  daylight  saving  to  light 
the  early  evening,  like  "wise  virgins"  when  going  to,  or 
coming  from,  these  entertainments,  the  inhabitants  took 
their  lanterns,  well-trimmed  and  burning,  and  looked  like 
fire-flies,  as  they  wended  their  way  through  the  gloom. 

People  living  near  the  lake,  had  sail-  and  rowboats,  and 
a  sort  of  community  barge,  which  was  a  broad,  long,  ten- 
oared  boat,  carrying  ten  or  fifteen  people.  We  often  went 
on  the  water  in  the  summer-time.  Colonel  Mason  Loomis 
used  to  come  down  from  the  city  in  his  yacht,  and  take  us 
for  a  sail  and  a  gay  supper  on  board.  A  yacht  club,  too,  was 
a  feature  of  early  Hyde  Park  days. 

George  Root,  composer  of  the  loved  songs  of  the  Civil 
War,  head  of  the  talented  family  of  Roots,  famous  in 
musical  circles,  lived  in  Hyde  Park.  His  son,  Frederick 
Root,  a  leader  throughout  his  life  in  orchestra  organization, 
was  well  known  as  such  in  Chicago,  and  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Burnham,  was  distinguished  in  literary  work. 

Flood's  Hall,  a  good-sized  room  over  Dow's  drug  store, 


OLD   HYDE  PARK  183 

near  the  Illinois  Central  station  at  Fifty -Third  Street,  was 
the  center  of  much  innocent  gaiety.  Our  public  lectures, 
concerts,  political  meetings,  and  dancing  classes  were  all 
held  in  Flood's  Hall.  The  entertainments  there  were  colored 
by  the  presence  of  the  Roots,  who  could  sing,  act,  dance,  and 
organize  theatricals  better  than  anyone  else.  It  was  there 
that  the  Gilbert  and  Sullivan  operas  were  vividly  and 
brilliantly  presented  by  the  Roots  and  their  musical  circle. 
Edward  Woodel  was  an  excellent  "Dick  Deadeye,"  and 
Frank  Fairman  an  imposing,  stately  "Admiral." 

Hyde  Park  was  a  community  of  music-lovers.  At  an  early 
day,  when  the  bob-tailed  street-car,  drawn  by  a  single  horse 
with  a  tinkling  table-bell  strapped  about  his  neck,  went  no 
farther  than  Thirty-Ninth  Street,  these  enthusiasts  attended 
operas,  concerts,  and  theaters:  there  were  no  people  in  the 
city  in  closer  touch  with  musical  events  than  Hyde  Parkers. 
The  return  home  at  midnight  was  accomplished  by  taking 
a  carryall  or  sleigh  at  the  end  of  the  car  line,  and  driving 
three  miles  or  more,  each  member  of  the  party  being  dropped 
at  his  or  her  door. 

In  proportion  to  its  population,  Hyde  Park  in  those  days 
had  more  able  men  in  its  midst  than  are  often  found  in  any 
community.  A  number  of  the  leading  lawyers  of  Chicago, 
and  men  of  affairs,  were  attracted  by  finding  country  life 
so  accessible  to  the  city,  and  came  to  Hyde  Park  in  the 
early  seventies.  Among  the  distinguished  residents  was 
Judge  Lyman  J.  Trumbull  —  a  close  friend  of  Mr.  Lincoln's 
from  the  early  days  when  both  lived  in  southern  Illinois, 
where  they  often  met  in  court  sessions  or  on  circuit. 
He  held  many  distinguished  positions,  having  been  Judge  of 
the  Superior  Court  of  Illinois,  and  was  United  States  Senator 


184  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

from  Illinois  for  eighteen  years.  An  interesting  incident  is 
told  of  his  campaign  for  the  Senate.  Five  men  were  compet- 
ing for  the  appointment,  among  them  Mr.  Lincoln.  A  dead- 
lock was  the  result,  which  was  broken  by  Mr.  Lincoln,  who 
withdrew  and  turned  his  votes  to  Judge  Trumbull,  thus 
insuring  his  victory.  Judge  Trumbull  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  quiet  life  of  Hyde  Park  when  he  finally  retired  from  his 
many  activities,  for  he  lived  there  happily  until  his  death. 

Norman  B.  Judd,  another  of  our  neighbors,  was  Illinois 
State  Senator  for  sixteen  years.  Originally  a  Democrat,  he 
became,  by  conviction,  a  Republican,  and  was  an  enthu- 
siastic supporter  of  the  new  party.  In  the  Convention  of 
1860  he  had  the  distinguished  honor  of  nominating  Abraham 
Lincoln  for  the  Presidency.  Afterward,  Mr  Judd  was 
appointed  Minister  to  Berlin  —  and  was  a  member  of  Con- 
gress for  many  years.  His  home  was  on  Forty -Seventh 
Street,  near  Lake  Avenue. 

After  the  Fire  drove  them  from  Michigan  Avenue,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  J.  Y.  Scammon  occupied  a  beautiful  tract  of  land 
of  twenty  acres  facing  south  on  the  Midway;  the  School  of 
Education,  connected  with  the  Chicago  University,  now 
occupies  a  part  of  this  ground.  They  called  their  place 
"Fern wood  Villa,"  and  no  home  in  Chicago  had  greater 
charm  or  more  of  an  atmosphere  of  culture  than  theirs.  Mr. 
Scammon  had  known  the  distinguished  people  of  the  world : 
he  was  a  devoted  friend  and  confidential  advisor  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  and  other  leading  men,  while  Mrs.  Scammon,  a  sis- 
ter of  Mrs.  Mahlon  D.  Ogden,  drew  to  herself  many  friends 
and  admirers.  Her  social  gift  was  remarkable  and  her  fireside 
was  always  the  center  of  an  attractive  group.  Anders 
Zorn,  the  Swedish  portrait-painter,  visited  at  Fernwood 


OLD  HYDE   PARK  185 

Villa  during  the  World's  Fair,  and  painted  the  portrait  of 
Mrs.  Scammon  which  now  hangs  in  the  Art  Institute. 

Mr.  Scammon  was  a  leading  lawyer  in  Chicago  for  many 
years,  and  as  a  citizen  greatly  assisted  the  up-building  of 
the  city.  He  was  always  a  generous  contributor  to  various 
societies,  and  was  a  founder  of  the  Astronomical  Society, 
the  Hahnemann  Hospital,  and  the  Academy  of  Science.  The 
first  well-equipped  observatory  in  or  near  Chicago  was 
provided  by  his  gift  of  $30,000  to  the  Chicago  University, 
located  at  that  time  at  Thirty-Fourth  Street  and  Lake 
Avenue.  When  the  University  of  Chicago,  a  struggling 
Baptist  institution,  became  a  beneficiary  of  Mr.  Rockefeller, 
and  moved  to  its  present  location,  this  telescope,  with  its 
fine  glass,  was  afterwards  presented  to  the  Northwestern 
University  at  Evanston,  where  it  now  is. 

William  K.  Ackerman  was  an  early  resident  in  Hyde 
Park,  living  in  Kenwood.  He  was  always  interested  in 
the  welfare  of  the  public,  and  was  a  pillar  in  St.  Paul's 
Church,  holding  every  office.  As  a  young  man  he  entered 
the  employ  of  the  Illinois  Central  Railroad  and  rose,  through 
different  stages,  until  he  became  president  of  the  Road. 
The  family  moved  to  the  North  Side,  and,  after  Mr.  Acker- 
man's  death,  Mrs.  Ackerman  went  to  Rochester  to  live. 

Van  H.  Higgins,  a  Judge  in  the  Superior  Court  of  Chicago, 
-  his  career  was  marked  by  unusual  energy  and  talent,  - 
was  a  long-time  resident  of  Hyde  Park.  On  his  retirement 
from   the   Bench,   Judge   Jamieson,   another   Hyde   Park 
resident,  was  elected  to  fill  the  vacancy. 

Charles  Hitchcock  was  a  lawyer  of  great  ability  and  a 
gentleman  of  culture  and  dignity.  He  left  a  fortune  that 
enabled  Mrs.  Hitchcock  to  build  a  dormitory  at  the  Uni- 


186  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

versity  of  Chicago,  and  so  perpetuate  his  name.  The  Hitch- 
cock home,  where  Mrs.  Hitchcock  has  been  living  for  more 
than  fifty  years,  was  a  country  place  of  unusual  charm,  and  is 
now  an  oasis  in  the  midst  of  a  thickly-built  neighborhood. 

Horatio  Waite,  a  lawyer,  and  formerly  Paymaster  of  the 
United  States  Navy  during  the  Civil  War,  lived  in  Hyde 
Park,  and  he  and  his  wife  always  kept  open  house  to  friends. 
Their  house  might  well  be  called  the  home  of  the  Shake- 
speare Club.  This  Club  met  informally  once  a  week  at  the 
home  of  some  one  of  the  members.  Chosen  ones  read  the 
plays  selected,  and  their  declamatory  and  intelligent  inter- 
pretations made  many  a  delightful  evening. 

Two  attempts  were  made  to  establish  private  schools  in 
Hyde  Park,  the  first  one  by  Mrs.  Waite,  wife  of  Judge  Waite, 
a  character  in  the  early  days.  Mrs.  Waite  was  one  of  the 
first  women  to  be  interested  in  what  was  then  called  "Wo- 
man's Rights";  her  very  walk  expressed  determination. 
The  private  schools  were  not  successful,  as  taxpayers  pre- 
ferred the  public  schools,  which  is  not  surprising  when  one 
realizes  that  the  High  School  in  Kenwood  commanded  the 
services  of  such  men  as  Davis  R.  Dewey,  now  head  of  the 
Economics  Department  of  the  Massachusetts  Institute  of 
Technology.  Mr.  Dewey  was  recalled  after  a  time  to  Boston, 
and  William  G.  Beale,  of  Chicago,  took  his  place  as 
head  of  the  High  School.  As  I  remember,  he  pursued  his 
law  studies  while  occupying  this  position.  Even  then  he 
gave  promise  of  his  aptness  for  his  chosen  profession  which 
has  since  been  demonstrated  in  his  very  successful  career. 

Forty-Seventh  Street  leads  from  Lake  Michigan  west, 
passing  through  a  part  of  Hyde  Park  called  "The  Ridge," 
between  Vincennes  Avenue  and  Grand  Boulevard.  Mr. 


OLD   HYDE  PARK  187 

Horatio  O.  Stone  Jived  in  this  part  of  the  town  for  many 
years,  having  a  spacious  home,  with  elaborate  lodges  at 
the  gates.  Among  their  neighbors  were  Judge  and  Mrs. 
Henry  O.  Sheppard.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H.  H.  Honore,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Potter  Palmer  had  houses  near-by  for  the  summer 
season.  It  was  at  this  country  residence  of  Mr.  Honore 
that  his  daughter,  Ida,  was  married  to  Colonel  Frederick 
Grant,  son  of  General  Grant,  an  event  of  great  social  im- 
portance, the  President  and  Mrs.  Grant  having  come  on 
from  Washington  for  the  wedding. 1 

It  is  to  Paul  Cornell,  called  the  "Father  of  Hyde  Park," 
that  Chicago  owes  its  South  Park  System.  He  was  one  of  the 
largest  land-owners  here,  and  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
city's  betterment.  He  had  visions  of  great  and  beautiful 
play-grounds,  and  in  1867  he  spent  much  of  his  winter  in 
Springfield  in  the  interest  of  the  South  Parks'  Bill,  securing 
its  passage  after  much  opposition.  The  Legislature  finally 
passed  an  act  authorizing  the  condemnation  of  certain 
lands  located  on  each  side  of  the  city  to  be  used  as  boule- 
vards and  parks.  This  was  the  first  step  in  the  City  Beauti- 
ful. The  realization  of  this  scheme,  as  it  is  now  carried  out 
in  Jackson  and  Washington  Parks  and  the  Midway  Plai- 
sance,  testifies  to  the  foresight,  the  imagination,  the  am- 
bition, and  the  ability,  of  a  few  men  in  Chicago.  It  has 
been  said  of  the  establishment  of  the  South  Park  System, 
that  for  honest  management  and  judicious  expenditure 
it  stands  without  a  parallel  in  the  history  of  our  city. 
Certainly  it  has  no  superior. 

Paul  Cornell  was  appointed  by  the  Governor  on  the  first 

1  Other  prominent  Hyde  Park  residents,  besides  those  mentioned  in  the  text, 
were:  John  B.  Calhoun,  Homer  Hibbard,  James  A.  Root,  Charles  Gossage, 
James  Morgan,  and  Norman  Perkins. 


188  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Board  of  Park  Commissioners,1  and  was  its  secretary;  he 
was  reappointed  several  times,  and  served  for  fourteen 
years.  He  further  testified  to  his  belief  in  his  part  of  town 
by  building  the  Hyde  Park  Hotel  at  Fifty-Third  Street  and 
the  lake. 

The  World's  Columbian  Exposition  would  never  have 
come  to  Chicago  had  there  not  been  the  beauties  of  Jackson 
Park  to  offer  the  Commissioners.  They  saw  great  possibil- 
ities in  the  wide  meadows,  the  Wooded  Island  and  its  sur- 
rounding lagoons,  and  the  wonderful  background  of  blue 
lake  and  sky.  It  is  not  surprising  that  architects,  inspired 
by  this  scene,  gave  us  those  marvelous  buildings. 

Many  questions  have  been  asked  about  the  origin  of  the 
name  Midway  Plaisance,  which  was  given  to  a  drive-way 
connecting  the  two  parks  —  Jackson  and  Washington  — 
later  made  famous  by  the  World's  Fair.  For  a  long  time 
this  roadway  was  not  improved.  Its  shaded  walks  and  drives 
made  it  a  resort  of  equestrians  and  others  enjoying  real 
country.  It  led  through  a  grove  of  trees  just  south  of  J.  Y. 
Scammon's  place.  The  name  Midway  came  from  its  situa- 
tion between  the  two  parks,  and  Paul  Cornell,  while  a  Park 
Commissioner,  brought  Plaisance  home  with  him  from 
Paris.  I  cannot  find  the  exact  meaning  for  the  word,  but  it 
may  be  roughly  defined  as  "a  place  of  pleasure."  The  Mid- 
way during  the  World's  Fair  was  surely  a  place  of  pleasure 
and  delight. 

Six  miles  south  of  the  City  was  the  Washington  Park  race- 
course, with  its  well-equipped  club-house,  which  had  fol- 
lowed the  improvements  in  Washington  Park  and  the 

1  The  other  members  of  the  Board  of  Park  Commissioners  were :  J.M.Wilson, 
President,  Paul  Cornell,  Secretary,  Benjamin  F.  Ayer,  Attorney  for  South 
Park  Board,  George  W.  Gage,  and  Chauncey  Keep  Bowen. 


OLD   HYDE  PARK  189 

boulevards,  making  the  race-course  very  accessible,  and 
situated  in  such  a  way  as  to  attract  crowds.  The  annual 
June  races  at  the  Washington  Park  Race-track  were  the 
first  call  of  summer  to  the  fashionable  world,  the  feminine 
part  of  which  turned  out  in  becoming  gowns,  hats  and 
parasols.  The  grand-stand  was  like  a  terrace  of  flowers.  It 
was  an  amusing  excitement  to  watch  the  anxiety  in  betting 
circles.  On  the  opening  day  the  line  of  perfectly  appointed 
landaus,  victorias,  and  tandems  on  the  boulevards  brought 
out  a  crowd  of  the  less  fortunate  who  waited  at  the  road- 
side to  see  what,  to  us  all,  seemed  a  real  pageant,  and  to 
point  out  the  noted  beauties  and  business-men  of  Chicago. 

The  dashing  up  to  the  Club-house  of  Potter  Palmer's 
four-in-hand,  and  the  equally  well-equipped  coach-and- 
four  of  Arthur  Caton,  was  always  an  event  in  the  afternoon. 
In  these  days  could  such  an  excitement  ever  be  produced 
by  the  passing  of  a  limousine,  even  if  a  President  were 
boxed  in  it? 

In  that  simple  era,  the  church  was  much  more  of  a  social 
and  domestic  factor  in  our  daily  lives  than  it  now  is.  Every- 
one attended  at  least  one  service  on  Sundays,  and  there 
were  many  occasions  during  the  week  when  members  of 
the  various  denominations  were  called  by  their  pastors  to 
some  kind  of  church  meeting. 

The  first  church  erected  in  Hyde  Park  was  a  small  frame 
building  at  the  north  end,  built  by  Charles  Cleaver.  It  was 
a  Congregational  organization.  Paul  Cornell  erected  a 
second  building  "For  the  Worship  of  Almighty  God," 
which  had  no  sectarian  organization  behind  it.  Union  serv- 
ices occasionally  were  held  there  when  a  wandering  min- 
ister could  be  obtained.  The  Presbyterians  would  meet  in 


190  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

the  morning,  and  the  Episcopalians  in  the  evening.  The  ut- 
most harmony  prevailed,  but,  on  one  occasion,  through 
some  misunderstanding,  they  both  attempted  to  meet  at 
the  same  morning  hour;  the  spirit  of  the  Church  Militant 
became  so  aroused  that  one  section  of  it  finally  became 
the  Church  Triumphant.  But  it  was  not  long  before  a  new 
cause  of  trouble  arose;  the  usual  fraternal  feeling,  not  un- 
tinged  by  suspicion,  existed  in  the  sects  (or  was  it  the  sex- 
tons?), forcing  the  situation.  Each  congregation  had  its 
own  woodpile  in  the  cellar.  The  sexton  of  the  Episcopalians 
seemed  to  miss  something  and  put  up  a  sign  "Episcopalian 
woodpile.  Hands  off."  There  being  no  special  dispensation 
as  to  woodpiles,  there  was  no  more  molesting.  Both  churches 
prospered  moderately. 

Later  on,  the  Episcopal  Church  left  Hyde  Park  and  moved 
to  the  more  aristocratic  Kenwood;  it  was  a  pioneer  at  that 
end  of  the  town.  The  Calvinists  were  left  in  full  possession 
of  the  one  little  church  in  Hyde  Park  —  enlarging  it  so 
that  it  accommodated  the  Presbyterians  for  some  years, 
until  they  built  a  more  pretentious  stone  church. 

The  Episcopalians  at  first  held  services  in  the  upper 
room  of  the  Kenwood  schoolhouse.  The  room  was  not 
adapted  to  church  service;  the  blackboard  served  as  reredos, 
and  the  imprint  of  the  last  mathematical  effort,  or  some 
rude  sketch  made  the  previous  Friday,  was  generally  left 
on  the  board.  An  old  melodeon  led  the  singing.  It  was  not 
long  before  a  frame  church  with  a  high  steeple  was  built, 
which  was  called  St.  Paul's.  I  remember  that  about  this 
time  the  treasurer  of  the  Church,  W.  K.  Ackerman, 
reported  that  the  magnificent  sum  of  $45  had  been  raised 
and  expended  on  the  services  of  several  clergymen. 


OLD  HYDE  PARK  191 

The  simplicity  and  contentment  of  the  early  days  in 
Hyde  Park,  and  the  Mid-Victorian  flavor  of  their  somewhat 
ceremonious  hospitality,  seem  to  me  in  retrospect,  to  be 
rather  fine  and  distinguished.  Men  talked  well,  and  com- 
ported themselves  with  dignity.  Women  were  witty  and 
accomplished,  as  well  as  good  home-makers.  We  were  bound 
together  by  the  strong  tie  of  the  pioneer,  and  friendship  was 
an  evident  fact.  I  like  to  remember  Sunday  afternoons  at 
our  house,  when,  in  hot  weather,  friends  would  gather  for  a 
cooling  "Tom  Collins"  on  the  porch,  or,  on  cold  days,  for 
a  hot  toddy  by  the  library  fire.  Mr.  Dewey,  then  a  brilliant 
young  man,  frequently  called.  Mr.  Wirt  Dexter,  out  for  a 
constitutional,  on  his  big,  dappled-gray  horse,  would  often 
ride  down  from  the  city,  and  "drop  in."  "Long"  John 
Wentworth,  driving  down  to  inspect  his  Wentworth  Tract, 
and  other  properties,  would  always  stop  at  our  house 
and  review  with  my  husband  the  palmy  days  of  New 
Hampshire  politics,  when  Franklin  Pierce  was  Presi- 
dent, and  he  and  Daniel  Webster  were  leaders  of  their 
party.  Both  were  friends  of  these  gentlemen,  and  ardent 
Democrats  of  that  day.  Melville  W.  Fuller,  later  Chief 
Justice  of  the  United  States,  was  a  frequent  visitor,  as 
were  many  other  men  who  were  associated  with  large 
affairs  of  that  time. 

In  the  eighties,  the  city  of  Chicago  began  to  cast  longing 
and  jealous  glances  at  the  contented  and  prosperous  village 
of  Hyde  Park  and  sought  its  annexation  to  Chicago.  For 
several  years  the  village  made  a  strenuous  fight  at  the  polls 
to  retain  its  independence,  but  the  time  came  when  all 
efforts  failed,  and  Hyde  Park  lost  its  identity  in  the  em- 
brace of  the  great  city.  So  passed  into  the  shades  of  other 


192  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

days  the  one-time  simple,  friendly  customs  and  manners 
suitable  to  a  village,  but  not  possible  under  the  more  com- 
plex conditions  which  mark  city  life. 


XII 

BEFORE  THE  FIRE 
BY  MRS.  FREDERICK  GREELEY 

I  AM  glad  that  I  can  remember  some  of  the  aspects  of  the 
North  Side  of  Chicago  before  the  great  fire. 

I  seem  to  myself  to  have  passed  my  childhood  and  grown 
up  in  the  midst  of  gardens;  to  have  had  my  play  in  quiet 
streets,  made  pleasant  and  beautiful  by  arching  trees,  with 
soft,  unpaved  roadways  and  wooden  sidewalks;  with  houses 
set  back  from  the  highway,  and  surrounded  by  flowers  and 
shrubs. 

Our  own  house  stood  in  the  center  of  the  east  side  of  the 
block  bounded  by  Huron,  Rush,  Erie  and  Pine  streets  — 
the  latter  now  North  Michigan  Avenue. 

The  house,  square,  stucco-finished,  and  stained  or  paint- 
ed a  gray-brown,  was  a  two-story  structure,  with  high  base- 
ment. A  broad  flight  of  steps  led  up  to  the  front  door,  which 
opened  into  a  large,  square  hall,  from  which  a  comfortable, 
winding  stair  ascended  to  the  second  story.  On  the  right  of 
the  hall  was  the  drawing-room  —  an  Early  Victorian  room, 
with  furniture,  hangings,  and  decorations  of  the  period. 
Long  French  windows  lighted  the  room;  a  carpet,  gay  with 
garlands  of  flowers  covered  the  floor.  In  the  middle  and  at 
both  ends  of  it  were  designs  of  wreaths  of  roses.  To  me 
that  carpet  seemed  the  acme  of  beauty  and  elegance. 

The  prevailing  color  of  the  library  was  green.  Book-cases 
lined  the  walls  and  extended  to  the  ceiling.  Back  of  the 


194  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

library  was  a  large  bedroom,  or  nursery,  with  dressing- 
room  and  bath-room  adjacent.  The  dining-room  and  con- 
servatory were  in  the  English  basement.  We  descended  to 
these  rooms  by  inclosed,  perfectly  dark  stairs.  Opposite  the 
lower  door  of  this  steep  and  un-lighted  staircase  was  the 
conservatory,  with  its  fresh  greenery,  its  warm,  moist 
fragrance,  and  its  sunshine.  Opening  from  this  shadowy 
lower  hall  were  mysterious  doors  leading  into  various  service 
rooms  and  pantries. 

On  the  south  and  east  sides  of  the  house  were  broad 
piazzas  looking  into  the  garden.  Directly  in  front  of  the 
high  flight  of  steps  which  led  to  the  front  door,  was  a  foun- 
tain, a  mossy  pool,  in  the  center  of  which  was  set  an  oval- 
shaped  boulder 1  of  red  granite,  which  for  years  had  stood 
within  the  inclosure  of  Fort  Dearborn.  This  rock  had  been 
cut  out  and  used  first  by  Indians,  later  by  soldiers  of  the 
garrison,  as  a  place  in  which  to  grind  corn.  On  the  face  of 
this  massive  boulder  had  been  roughly  carved,  by  some 
embryo  sculptor,  the  features  of  Waubansee,  an  Indian 
chieftain  of  renown  in  the  neighborhood. 

My  father,  Isaac  N.  Arnold,  had  purchased  the  boulder 
and  had  it  removed  from  the  Fort  and  placed  in  our  garden. 
A  hole  had  been  pierced  through  the  rock  for  a  water-pipe 
which  came  out  through  the  depression  made  by  the  ab- 
original corn  grinders.  From  a  bronze  mouthpiece  a  slender 
jet  of  water  sprang  into  the  air,  to  fall  back  into  the  corn 
receptacle,  and  from  there  to  trickle  down  over  the  fea- 
tures of  the  old  chief  into  the  pool  below.  Around  and 
above  the  boulder  grew  a  tree,  completely  enveloped  by 
festoons  of  wild  grapevine. 

1  This  stone  is  now  in  the  rooms  of  the  Chicago  Historical  Society. 


BEFORE  THE  FIRE  195 

From  the  fountain  to  the  Erie  Street  entrance  extended 
lawns  and  shrubberies,  intersected  by  paths  and  walks. 
A  sun-dial  "numbered  the  sunny  hours."  Tall  evergreens 
made  secluded  nooks  of  shade,  where  children  played,  and 
rejoiced  in  rabbits  and  other  domestic  pets;  and  where  birds 
and  wild  creatures  found  sanctuary  and  shelter. 

A  croquet-ground  occupied  the  lawn  east  of  the  house. 
On  the  rear  of  the  property,  and  facing  Huron  Street,  were 
grapevines  and  greenhouses,  as  well  as  a  substantial  barn. 
Fruit-  and  flower-gardens  filled  the  land  in  between  these 
buildings  and  our  house. 

On  the  block  south  of  us  was  the  Newberry  place,  with 
its  gardens  and  grape-arbors.  West  of  the  Newberry  do- 
mains and  across  Rush  Street,  William  B.  Ogden's  beauti- 
ful home  occupied  another  whole  block,  bounded  by  Rush, 
Ontario,  Cass  and  Erie  streets.  Farther  north,  old  St. 
James's  Church  —  the  Mother  Church  of  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  faith  in  Chicago  —  cast  its  protecting  shadows 
over  the  homes  of  many  of  its  members. 

The  two  Rumsey  households, 1  on  the  corners  of  Huron, 
Cass  and  Rush  streets,  were  bulwarks  of  faith  and  strength. 
It  is  pleasant  to  remember  how  much  of  the  policy  and 
plans  for  the  welfare  of  the  parish  may  have  emanated  from 
informal  conferences  and  meetings  held  on  the  hospitable 
front  steps  of  the  Julian  Rumsey  mansion. 

Opposite  George  Rumsey's  house  on  Rush  Street,  was 
the  delightful  home  of  the  Henry  W.  Kings  —  a  Presby- 
terian stronghold  this,  but  none  the  less  devoted  to  com- 
munity interests.  Back  of  Mr.  King's  residence,  and  facing 

1  That  of  Julian  Rumsey  was  on  the  corner  of  Huron  and  Cass  streets, 
while  his  brother  George  Rumsey 's  home  was  to  the  east  on  the  corner  of 
Rush  and  Huron  streets. 


196  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

our  place  on  Huron  Street,  was  a  row  of  two  or  three  houses, 
made  of  yellow  Milwaukee  brick.  In  the  east  end  house 
lived  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  McCormick. 1  The  west  end 
was  occupied  by  two  maidens  from  the  south  —  the  Misses 
Forsyth. 

Still  farther  east,  and  filling  the  corner,  was  the  home  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Perry  Smith,  a  brown,  wooden  house,  filled 
with  bric-a-brac,  paintings,  and  statuary. 

Across  Pine  Street,  in  what  seems,  as  I  remember  it,  the 
most  palatial  of  all  these  beautiful  homes,  Mrs.  W.  W.  K. 
Nixon  dispensed  elegant  and  gracious  hospitality.  Dancing- 
school  at  her  house  was  a  social  function  of  the  first  magni- 
tude. I  seem  to  remember  with  awe  and  reverence  a  dignified 
butler,  and  a  wonderful  form  of  afternoon  tea. 

One  of  the  early  recollections  most  clear  in  my  mind, 
was  a  day  (it  must  have  been  about  1865)  when  Huron 
Street  was  filled  with  an  angry,  remonstrant  crowd  of  men 
and  women.  The  Misses  Forsyth,  whose  sympathies  were 
intensely  southern,  in  their  zeal  to  show  their  allegiance  to 
the  Confederate  cause,  had  hung  the  Confederate  flag  from 
their  windows.  This  was  probably  on  some  occasion  of 
rejoicing  over  victory  for  the  northern  armies.  The  poor 
ladies  held  their  own  for  some  time,  vociferating  and  gestic- 
ulating to  the  people  in  the  streets;  but  finding  that  their 
ill-judged  demonstration  was  creating  serious  trouble,  they 
finally  withdrew  the  offending  ensign,  and  the  crowd  dis- 
persed. The  little  girl  peering  through  the  cracks  of  the 
"back  fence"  felt  that  she,  too,  knew  the  meaning  of  war. 

In  those  days  of  my  childhood  one  of  our  favorite  amuse- 

1  The  parents  of  the  late  Hon.  Robert  Hall  McCormick,  William  McCor- 
mick, Mrs.  Samuel  Jewett,  the  late  Mrs.  Perry  H.  Smith,  and  the  late  Mrs. 
Edward  T.  Blair. 


BEFORE  THE  FIRE  197 

ments  was  to  go  down  to  the  end  of  Rush  Street  and  watch 
the  drawbridge  open  to  allow  shipping  to  pass  through,  and 
many  an  exciting  hour  was  spent  jumping  on  to  the  bridge 
for  "a  swing,"  as  steamers  and  schooners  were  towed  in 
and  out  of  the  river. 

In  those  days,  too,  most  of  us  attended  Miss  Whiting's 
School,  held  in  a  little  white,  wooden  cottage  at  the  end  of 
Ontario  Street,  where  the  sands  came  up  to  the  high  wooden 
sidewalk.  One  could  jump  down  at  least  six  feet,  landing 
in  the  soft,  white  sand  of  the  shore  of  Lake  Michigan.  Re- 
turning home  towards  evening,  it  was  fascinating  to  stray 
from  the  straight  and  narrow  path  over  to  Rush  Street,  past 
the  rows  of  cottages  on  the  south  side  of  Ontario  Street,  and 
the  tall  picket  fence  on  the  north  side  of  the  street,  which 
bounded  the  Newberry  place  and  through  which  one  gazed, 
as  into  a  forbidden  paradise.  Arriving  at  Rush  Street,  and 
perhaps  lingering  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  one  soon  de- 
scried the  herd  of  aristocratic  cows  coming  home  from  the 
pasture,  leisurely  pursuing  their  deliberate  way  down  the 
street,  each  one  turning  into  its  own  barnyard.  There  was 
the  Henry  King  cow,  the  McCormick,  the  Skinner,  Ogden, 
and  Newberry  cows,  and  if  one  hurried  quickly  up  to  Huron 
Street,  the  Rumsey  cow  could  be  seen  sauntering  to  the 
west,  the  Arnold  cow  to  the  east  —  all  obedient  to  habit 
and  direction. 

As  all  who  remember  the  great  fire  know,  the  fateful  day 
was  Sunday,  October  9,  1871.  The  weather  had  been  un- 
usually warm  and  dry,  with  high  winds.  Dead,  crisp  leaves 
lay  in  drifts  along  the  streets  and  in  the  gardens  of  the 
North  Side. 

I  had  heard  my  parents  speak  of  the  fire  of  Saturday 


198  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

night,  but  had  no  definite  impression  of  anything  impend- 
ing, until  I  was  awakened  in  the  darkness  of  Sunday  night 
and  told  to  get  up  and  dress  and  come  out  into  the  garden 
to  help  put  out  fires,  which  started  in  the  leaves  from 
falling  sparks. 

The  sky  was  an  angry  copper-color,  while  what  seemed 
rushing  flames  of  fire  spanned  the  high  arch  of  the  heavens. 
The  family  were  all  astir;  probably  my  father  and  the  gar- 
dener had  been  up  all  night.  At  that  time  there  seemed  not 
so  much  alarm  as  excitement  in  fighting  an  enemy  who  was 
sure  to  be  conquered.  I  remember  how  gaily  we  children 
ran  from  one  to  another  of  our  favorite  spots  in  the  garden 
to  stamp  out  the  little  beginnings  of  fires.  The  air  grew 
hotter  and  hotter,  the  rain  of  sparks  and  burning  brands 
more  ominous;  then  came  a  voice  from  the  street,  someone 
running  and  shouting :  — 

"Mr.  Arnold!  the  water-works  are  burning,  the  end  is 
coming ! " 

With  a  gasp  the  fountain  gave  up  its  last  flirt  of  water; 
no  drop  came  through  the  house  faucets  —  the  end,  indeed, 
was  near.  Then  I  believe  for  one  moment  the  valiant  heart 
of  my  father  faltered.  In  the  next  instant  he  was  himself 
again.  Alert,  resourceful,  undaunted  by  the  terrible  situa- 
tion, he  at  once  set  himself  to  meet  the  immediate  and  ever- 
increasing  danger,  and  started  efforts  to  save  treasures  from 
the  house  —  family  portraits,  valued  pictures,  beloved 
books;  but  it  was  too  late.  The  barn  was  on  fire,  a  corner 
of  the  house  began  to  blaze,  and  a  great  burning  brand  fell 
with  a  crash  into  the  conservatory. 

My  mother  and  my  little  sister  Alice  had  already  left 
us  to  go  to  my  married  sister  and  her  husband,  because 


BEFORE  THE  FIRE  199 

their  house  seemed  less  in  the  path  of  the  fire.  The  rest  of 
us  remained  behind,  believing  our  home  was  safe  because 
of  its  distance  from  other  dwellings,  and  being  surrounded 
by  green  things  which  would  not  easily  burn.  Almost  be- 
fore we  realized  it,  flight  became  imperative.  My  father 
gathered  about  him  the  little  group,  consisting  of  my  elder 
sister,  Katherine,  my  brother,  Arthur,  and  myself,  with  the 
gardener  and  maids.  Quickly  we  ran  into  the  house  to 
snatch  up  "one  more  precious  possession";  quickly  the 
horses  and  the  cow  were  brought  from  the  barn,  now  be- 
ginning to  burn.  Then,  slowly,  reluctantly,  we  turned  our 
faces  from  the  house  so  dear  to  us  all.  My  father's  plan 
was  to  go  to  the  lake  shore  —  a  plan  which  was  also  a  last 
desperate  resort,  as  north,  south,  and  west  of  us,  escape  was 
impossible.  Well  does  the  picture  stand  forth  in  my  memory 
—  the  forlorn  little  cavalcade  making  its  way  from  the 
place  through  the  Pine  Street  gate,  the  father,  the  children, 
the  faithful  servants,  the  patient  animals. 

As  we  moved  slowly  into  the  street,  we  heard  a  jovial, 
cheerful  voice,  and,  looking  up,  saw  our  opposite  neighbor, 
Samuel  Johnston,  a  well-known  bachelor  and  householder, 
standing  on  his  front  doorstep,  the  door  open  behind  him, 
the  house  looking  dark  and  empty,  save  for  the  red  glare  of 
the  flames;  in  his  hands  he  held  a  decanter  of  wine;  on  the 
step  beside  him  were  wine  glasses.  Lifting  one  in  his  hand 
and  filling  it,  he  offered  it  to  my  father,  saying:  "We  must 
take  one  more  drink  together,  Mr.  Arnold;  here's  to  your 
very  good  health!" 

I  think  he  joined  us  on  our  way  to  the  lake  shore.  Arriv- 
ing there  we  found  a  motley  crowd  of  people  —  some  neigh- 
bors, among  them  Edward  S.  Tinkham  and  his  family,  who 


200  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

stayed  with  us  until  we  escaped  on  the  following  day. 
There  on  the  sands  we  spent  the  remaining  hours  of  the 
night,  until  morning  broke  and  turned  the  lurid  flames 
into  lowering  clouds  of  smoke.  I  remember  sitting  on  a 
sofa  that  had  been  pushed  into  the  water  close  to  the  shore. 

The  wind  blowing  from  the  land  made  the  lake  gentle 
and  quiet,  and  I  think  we  children  must  have  dozed  and 
slept.  I  have  no  recollection  of  hunger,  nor  of  food.  Later 
in  the  morning,  we,  with  other  refugees,  were  ferried  in  small 
boats  across  "Ogden's  slip."  From  there  we  made  our  way 
to  the  lighthouse  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  where  kind 
people  provided  coffee  and  refreshments. 

In  the  afternoon  of  that  unforgetable  day,  a  tugboat 
came  to  our  rescue,  and  we  were  taken  up  the  river,  through 
the  burning  bridges,  past  the  ruined  and  still  smoldering 
warehouses  and  elevators,  to  the  West  Side.  Thence,  in  a 
dazed  condition  of  mind,  we  were  conveyed  in  wagons 
and  carriages  to  the  home  of  our  friends,  the  Alonzo  Hunt- 
ingtons,  on  the  corner  of  Indiana  Avenue  and  Sixteenth 
Street,  where  we  stayed  two  or  three  weeks  until  we  could 
collect  the  family  and  make  plans  for  the  coming  winter. 


XIII 

THE  CHICAGO  CLUB 
BY  EDWARD  BLAIR 

THE  position  occupied  by  the  Chicago  Club  is  rather 
unique.  Being  the  pioneer  club  of  the  West,  and  for  many 
years  the  only  club  in  Chicago,  it  included  all  of  Chicago's 
early  settlers  who  had  any  use  for  a  club,  a  patronage  which 
in  other  cities  is  usually  found  divided.  This  is  partly  ac- 
counted for  by  the  youth  of  the  community  as  well  as  the 
Puritan  antecedents  of  its  early  settlers.  They  did  not  come 
here  for  their  health;  few  of  them  had  any  previous  expe- 
rience of  clubs,  and  if  their  opinion  had  been  requested 
the  majority  probably  would  have  pronounced  them  an 
undesirable  influence  in  the  community. 

The  Chicago  Club  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  out- 
growth of  the  old  Dearborn  Club,  a  congregation  of  two- 
or  threescore  congenial  spirits  who,  towards  the  close  of  the 
Civil  War,  began  to  meet  in  rooms  on  State  Street  opposite 
the  spot  on  which  the  Palmer  House  now  stands.  They 
afterward  moved  into  the  upper  floor  of  the  old  Portland 
Block,  on  the  southeast  corner  of  Washington  and  Dear- 
born streets,  where  a  few  of  their  number  in  a  desultory 
way  met  to  pass  the  time  of  day,  sample  "wet  goods"  or 
play  "draw."  Their  membership  was  so  heterogeneous  and 
their  attendance  so  irregular  that,  before  the  Dearborn  Club 
was  closed  by  the  sheriff  in  the  fall  of  1868,  their  president, 
W.  J.  Barney,  and  several  of  their  prominent  members, 


202  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

among  them  Judge  Hugh  Dickey,  General  Stager,  John 
Janes,  Henry  R.  Pierson,  Philip  Wadsworth,  J.  K.  Fisher, 
Howard  Priestley,  Octavius  Badger,  David  Gage,  John 
B.  Raymond,  Henry  W.  Farrar,  Francis  Morgan,  and  others, 
had  already  begun  to  discuss  a  new  organization. 

To  this  end  a  meeting  was  called  in  January,  1869,  in 
the  Sherman  House,  which  was  then  Chicago's  leading 
hotel,  kept  by  Gage  Bros.  &  Rice.  A  number  of  the  Club's 
members  boarded  there  and  ate  together,  as  they  did  at  the 
Grand  Pacific  after  the  great  fire.  About  forty  attended 
this  meeting,  at  which  U.  H.  Crosby,  of  Crosby's  Opera 
House  fame,  presided.  Nothing  came  of  this  meeting;  but 
at  a  succeeding  meeting,  of  which  David  Gage  was  chair- 
man, and  John  Janes,  secretary,  it  was  decided  to  appoint 
a  committee  to  select  a  hundred  men  to  form  a  club  to  be 
known  as  the  Chicago  Club.  The  committee  consisted  of 
Charles  B.  Farwell,  Philip  Wadsworth,  John  Janes,  Henry 
R.  Pierson,  David  Gage,  W.  J.  Barney,  and  Octavius 
Badger.  It  was  said  that  only  about  a  dozen  of  the  original 
hundred  members  of  the  Chicago  Club  had  ever  belonged 
to  a  club  before,  and  there  was  considerable  doubt  in  the 
minds  of  the  gentlemen  approached  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
organization  they  were  requested  to  join.  Even  when  this 
was  successfully  explained,  a  further  opposition  on  the 
part  of  their  wives  had  frequently  to  be  encountered. 

The  names  of  the  original  hundred  members  of  the  Chi- 
cago Club,  as  nearly  as  can  be  ascertained,  were  as  follows : 

Ayer,  B.  F.  Barter,  T.  O. 

Ayer,  John  V.  Bishop,  H.  W. 

Badger,  Octavius  Boal,  Charles  T. 

Barnes,  Charles  J.  Brown,  Andrew 

Barney,  W.  J.  Burley,  A.  H. 


THE   CHICAGO  CLUB 


203 


Campbell,  B.  H. 
Carrey,  Edmond 
Cobb,  Walter  F. 
Connell,  C.  J. 
Coolbaugh,  W.  F. 
Corwith,  Nathan 
Crerar,  John 
Crosby,  U.  H. 
DeKoven,  John 
Dexter,  Wirt 
Dickey,  Hugh  T. 
Drake,  John  B. 
Dunlap,  Geo.  L. 
Fair-bank,  N.  K. 
Farrar,  H.  W. 
Farwell,  C.  B. 
Fisher,  J.  K. 
Fiske,  D.  B. 
Fox,  Harry 
Fuller,  S.  W. 
Gage,  David  A. 
Gage,  George  W. 
Gale,  Stephen  F. 
Gossage,  Charles 
Hall,  Phillip  A. 
Hopkins,  George  B. 
Howard,  W.  B. 
Isham,  E.  S. 
Jackson,  Obediah 
Janes,  John  J. 
Johnstone,  Samuel 
Jones,  S.  M. 
Kattee,  Walter 
Keith,  Samuel  L. 
Kimball,  Granville 
Kirkwood,  William 
Lincoln,  Robert  T. 
Loomis,  J.  Mason 
Lyon,  John  B. 
McCagg,  E.  B. 

Young, 


McKay,  James  R. 
McLaury,  T.  G. 
Minot,  Edward  J. 
Morgan,  Francis 
Munger,  A.  A. 
Murray,  W.  H. 
Nickerson,  Samuel  M. 
Palmer,  Potter 
Parker,  J.  Mason 
Pelton,  William  T. 
Pierson,  Henry  R. 
Priestly,  Howard 
Pullman,  George  M. 
Rauch,  John  H. 
Raymond,  John  B. 
Rice,  John  B. 
Ross,  William  M. 
Rozet,  G.  H. 
Russel,  E.  W. 
Rutter,  J.  O. 
Scammon,  J.  Y. 
Sibley,  S. 
Smith,  Perry  H. 
Stager,  Anson 
Tappan,  Charles  S. 
Tilton,  Lucius 
Tinkham,  Edward  I. 
Tracy,  John  F. 
Tree,  Lambert 
Wadsworth,  Philip 
Walker,  Charles  H. 
Walker,  George  C. 
Walker,  William  B. 
Washburne,  Jr.,  Emory 
Wheeler,  Charles  W. 
Wheeler,  G.  Henry 
Wheeler,  Hiram 
Whitman,  George  R. 
Wilson,  Charles  L. 
Young,  George  W. 
James  R. 


David  and  George  Gage,  Wirt  Dexter,  General  Stager, 
C.  B.  Farwell,  and  George  M.  Pullman  each  advanced 
five  hundred  dollars,  —  which  was  afterward  repaid,  — 


204  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

toward  the  preliminary  expenses  of  the  Club.  Edward 
S.  Isham  prepared  the  papers  of  incorporation,  and 
the  old  Farnham  mansion,  on  Michigan  Avenue  between 
Adams  and  Jackson  streets,  was  rented  and  furnished 
for  the  Club.  When  it  was  ready  for  occupation,  a  meeting 
of  the  hundred  members  was  called  for  the  evening  of  May 
1,  1869.  Nearly  all  of  the  members  attended,  but  the  omens 
were  anything  but  auspicious.  It  was  a  terribly  rainy, 
stormy  night,  and  during  the  meeting  one  of  the  members 
was  seized  with  a  fit  and  had  to  be  carried  out. 

Ezra  B.  McCagg  was  elected  president  of  the  new  club. 
He  was  one  of  Chicago's  leading  attorneys,  a  partner  of 
J.  Y.  Scammon,  who  at  that  time  was  among  the  largest 
real-estate  holders  in  Chicago  and,  besides  his  real-estate 
and  his  law  business,  owned  and  managed  a  daily  news- 
paper, a  bank,  and  an  insurance  company.  Mr.  McCagg  had 
married  the  sister  of  William  B.  Ogden,  Chicago's  first 
mayor  and  wealthiest  citizen,  and  his  house,  in  which  he 
had  collected  one  of  the  finest  libraries  in  the  country,  was 
one  of  the  social  centers  of  the  city.  He  was  a  man  of  pol- 
ished manners,  culture  and  discrimination;  had  travelled 
much  abroad  and  was,  altogether,  of  a  type  not  at  all  com- 
mon at  that  time  in  Chicago.  Philip  Wads  worth  was  de- 
servedly elected  vice-president,  and  Edward  Tinkham, 
secretary  and  treasurer. 

Although  the  Club  nearly  doubled  its  membership  in  its 
first  year,  it  was  not  much  frequented  except  on  Saturday 
nights,  when  a  free  lunch  was  spread  to  attract  attendance. 
There  appeared  still  to  be  some  doubt  in  the  community 
as  to  its  character  and  purposes,  and  a  perusal  of  the  early 
records  indicates  that  this  feeling  was  not  entirely  absent 


THE   CHICAGO  CLUB  205 

from  the  minds  of  the  members  themselves.  One  of  the  by- 
laws declares:  "The  Club-house  shall  not  be  used  as  an 
exchange  or  salesroom  of  any  kind,"  and  at  one  of  the 
annual  meetings  it  is  resolved  that  "the  corporate  seal  of 
the  Chicago  Club  be  a  circle  of  adhesive  paper  with  the 
words  'Chicago  Club*  written  thereon."  At  this  same 
meeting  the  Club  voted  its  "thanks  to  Mr.  P.  C.  Maynard 
for  his  present  of  a  Webster's  Dictionary,"  a  gift  which  evi- 
dently filled  a  long-felt  want.  Candidates  for  membership 
were  voted  on  by  the  entire  Club,  with  the  result  that  a 
member  whose  candidate  was  blackballed  frequently  re- 
venged himself  by  excluding  all  the  others  proposed. 

The  Club-house,  being  then  considered  distant  from  the 
business  center,  established  a  lunch-room  on  Washington 
Street  west  of  La  Salle  Street.  This  resulted  in  its  being  less 
frequented  than  ever,  except  occasionally  in  the  evening, 
when  a  few  congenial  spirits  would  come  for  a  game  of 
cards.  Among  these  was  Granville  Kimball,  a  courtly,  old- 
fashioned  gentleman  who,  like  Hannibal  Hamlin  and  Daniel 
Webster,  always  wore  a  "swallow-tail"  suit,  resembling 
our  present  evening-dress.  Before  coming  to  Chicago  he 
owned  and  operated  several  stage  lines  in  Michigan,  among 
them  one  from  Chicago  to  Ypsilanti,  which  was  then  the 
western  terminal  of  the  Michigan  Central  Railway.  The  lat- 
ter was  an  old  strap  railroad,  over  which  three  trains  ran  each 
day  in  the  same  direction,  getting  back  as  best  they  could. 

Another  dignified,  old-school  gentleman  who  frequented 
the  card-room  was  Colonel  Lucius  Tilton,  resident  director 
of  the  Illinois  Central  Railway  and  one  of  the  oldest  and 
most  experienced  railway  men  in  the  country.  The  Gage 
brothers  were  also  frequent  attendants  of  the  card-room. 


206  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

They  were  from  Massachusetts,  where  one  of  them,  David, 
had  been  a  railroad  man,  and  the  other,  George,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  old  City  Hotel  of  Boston.  Among  other  fre- 
quenters of  the  card-room  were  Colonel  Henry  Farrar,  also 
from  Boston,  and  editor  of  the  Evening  Journal,  a  great  wit 
and  raconteur;  Dr.  Eldredge,  after  whom  Eldredge  Court  was 
named,  a  well-known  character  among  the  early  settlers,  with 
an  explosive  temper  and  an  appropriate  command  of  lan- 
guage; Arthur  Burley,  Sam  Johnston,  John  B.  Lyon,  H.  G. 
Loomis,  Sam  Keith,  George  Hopkins,  Charles  Tappan, 
Francis  Morgan,  who  roomed  in  the  Club  and  was  one  of 
its  first  secretaries,  the  Fisher  brothers,  two  big,  genial  Irish- 
men, who  also  roomed  in  the  Club  and  were  great  card  players 
and  general  favorites;  John  B.  Raymond,  a  society  beau  of 
those  days,  like  U.  H.  Crosby;  Howard  Priestley,  a  Mary- 
lander,  who  was  prominent  on  the  Board  of  Trade  and 
quite  a  man  about  town. 

Edmond  Carrey,  the  French  Consul,  one  of  the  few  that 
have  taken  much  part  in  the  social  life  of  our  city,  was  very 
popular  in  the  Club.  He  and  Edward  J.  Minot  were  re- 
spected for  their  judgment  of  wines  and  cuisine.  Mr.  Minot 
was  a  member  of  the  old  Minot  family  of  Boston  and  had 
been  a  captain  in  a  Massachusetts  regiment  during  the  war. 
At  its  close  he  came  west  and  entered  the  firm  of  Henry 
W.  King  &  Company.  Mr.  Minot  was  a  member  of  the 
Somerset  and  Athenaeum  clubs  of  Boston,  and  was,  in  every 
respect,  a  cultivated  gentleman.  One  of  the  few  others  who 
had  enjoyed  any  experience  of  club  life  was  Henry  R.  Pier- 
son  of  Albany,  resident  director  of  the  Chicago  and  North- 
western Railway,  who  had  been  president  of  a  club  in  Brook- 
lyn and  was  a  college  man  and  a  natural  leader.  Among 


THE  CHICAGO  CLUB  207 

others  of  the  railroad  men  prominent  in  the  life  of  the  city 
and  the  Club  in  those  days,  were:  T.  B.  Blackstone,  a  man 
with  a  rugged  Henri  Quatre  face  and  beard,  who  built  up 
the  Alton  road  into  a  great  railway  system,  with  an  integrity 
and  conservation  exceptional  in  those  days ;  Perry  H.  Smith 
and  George  L.  Dunlap  of  the  Northwestern,  and  John  Van 
Northwick,  president  of  the  Burlington,  a  regular  attend- 
ant and  card  player. 

Among  the  prominent  lawyers  who  became  early  mem- 
bers of  the  Chicago  Club  were  two  of  the  ablest  and  oddest 
geniuses  that  ever  belonged  to  the  Chicago  bar,  Judge 
Beckwith  and  Francis  H.  Kales,  of  whom  many  anecdotes 
survive.  Judge  Fuller  and  Judge  Skinner,  both  fine  Christian 
gentlemen  and  interesting  conversationalists,  were  only  oc- 
casional frequenters  of  the  Club.  Wirt  Dexter,  Judge  Dickey 
and  Judge  Tree  were  also  among  our  most  distinguished 
members,  but  although  there  were  several  of  national  rep- 
utation like  Melville  Fuller,  afterwards  chief  justice,  Lyman 
J.  Gage,  Franklin  MacVeagh,  Robert  T.  Lincoln,  who  all 
became  cabinet  ministers,  our  most  distinguished  member, 
without  doubt,  was  General  Philip  H.  Sheridan.  When  he 
came  to  Chicago  to  take  charge  of  the  Department  of  the 
Missouri,  he  was  invited  to  become  an  honorary  member 
of  the  Club,  without  payment  of  dues,  but,  with  characteristic 
independence,  he  declined,  saying  he  preferred  to  be  elected 
in  the  regular  way  and  pay  his  initiation  fee  like  any  other 
member.  He  was  a  frequent  visitor  of  the  Club,  affable  to  all 
and  as  unassuming  as  the  humblest.  His  appearance  was  in 
striking  contrast  to  his  manner;  a  short,  thick  body  and 
neck,  a  massive,  bullet-shaped  head,  close-cropped  hair,  a 
complexion  crimsoned  by  exposure  and  high  living,  and 


208  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

features  of  a  stern,  predatory  cast,  like  those  of  an  Indian; 
a  personality  eloquent  of  the  ruthless  determination  which 
harried  and  pursued  the  Confederacy  to  exhaustion  —  an 
energy  so  fierce  as  to  be  even  equal  to  changing  defeat  into 
victory.  From  Sheridan's  appearance  you  would  have  ex- 
pected the  harsh  voice  of  command  and  the  assurance  of 
one  who  had  never  been  withstood,  but  the  reality  was 
quite  the  contrary.  In  private  life  his  voice  was  low  and  his 
manner  deferential.  He  would  chat  any  length  of  time  with 
anyone  who  stopped  him.  His  reminiscences  at  such  times 
were  far  more  interesting  than  anything  in  his  memoirs, 
which  are  a  bare  relation  of  facts,  written  with  the  brevity 
of  a  military  report. 

Sheridan,  as  a  man,  has  been  misunderstood,  but  not  in 
Chicago,  which  he  always  considered  his  home,  having 
spent  the  best  twelve  years  of  his  life  here.  His  kindness 
was  so  great  that  he  was  often  imposed  upon  by  people 
who  abused  his  good  nature.  He  gathered  around  him  the 
most  brilliant  staff  we  have  ever  had  in  Chicago.  It  included 
General  Rucker,  whose  daughter  he  married;  Generals 
Baird  and  Rufus  Ingalls,  who  were  great  frequenters  of  the 
Club,  and  General  Whipple,  whose  daughter  became  Mrs. 
Charles  Deering  of  this  city ;  Colonels  Schuyler  Crosby,  Fred 
Grant  and  M.  V.  Sheridan,  too  well  known  to  require  fur- 
ther mention;  the  two  Forsythes  -  "Tony,"  quiet  and 
dignified,  the  picture  of  a  French  colonel,  with  his  prema- 
turely gray  hair  and  imperial;  "Sandy,"  who  was  some- 
times called  the  bravest  man  in  the  army,  as  he  certainly 
was  one  of  the  handsomest,  a  great  diner-out  and  the  very 
type  of  a  beau  sabreur  with  his  soldierly  figure,  manly  face 
and  flashing  blue  eyes.  The  "staff"  never  cut  such  a  figure 


THE   CHICAGO  CLUB  209 

in  Chicago  society  as  it  did  in  Sheridan's  day.  Probably  the 
handsomest  dinner  seen  here  up  to  that  time  was  given  in 
the  Chicago  Club  by  Colonel  Schuyler  Crosby.  His  guests 
numbered  forty  or  fifty,  and  the  tables  occupied  the  entire 
ground  floor  of  the  Club. 

The  last  dinner  given  in  the  old  Club  was  the  week  before 
the  great  fire,  when  General  Stager  asked  a  number  of  its 
members  to  meet  James  Gordon  Bennett,  "Larry"  Jerome, 
"Johnny"  Hecksher,  and  Fairman  Rogers,  who  were  re- 
turning from  a  hunting-party  General  Sheridan  had  given 
them  in  the  West.  The  second  day  of  the  great  fire  a  num- 
ber of  the  members,  among  them  Generals  Corse  and  Ledlie, 
George  and  James  Young,  J.  K.  Fisher,  and  John  Janes, 
wrho  had  been  burned  out  during  the  night  and  had  had  no 
sleep,  assembled  at  the  Club  and  were  refreshing  themselves 
with  what  might  be  called  "a  champagne-supper  for  break- 
fast," when  the  house  caught  afire.  Hastily  filling  their 
pockets  with  cigars  and  taking  a  demijohn  of  whisky  and  a 
red  satin  sofa  with  them,  they  finished  their  meal  on  the, 
lake  shore. 

The  great  fire,  coming  so  soon  after  the  organization  of 
the  Club,  was  nearly  fatal  to  its  existence.  The  Club  lost 
everything,  even  its  records,  and  its  members  were  for  a 
long  time  too  busy  trying  to  recover  from  the  great  calam- 
ity and  rebuild  their  homes  and  places  of  business,  to  have 
any  leisure  for  clubs.  The  Fire  of  1871  was  followed  so  closely 
by  the  panic  of  1873  that  many  who  had  borrowed  money 
to  rebuild  their  property  or  reestablish  their  business  were 
prostrated  by  this  second  catastrophe,  a  succession  of  mis- 
fortunes as  fatal  to  our  "peerage"  as  the  Wars  of  the  Roses. 
Many  who  were  prominent  before  lost  everything  and 


210  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

dropped  out  of  sight,  while  others,  who  might  have  retained 
their  places,  thought  it  a  good  time  to  sever  their  connec- 
tions with  Chicago  and  return  east. 

The  Club  maintained  a  precarious  existence,  first  in  the 
B.  F.  Hadduck  house  on  Michigan  Avenue  near  Park  Row, 
then  in  the  Gregg  house  on  the  northwest  corner  of  Wabash 
Avenue  and  Eldredge  Court,  but  these  locations  were  incon- 
venient and  any  member  who  went  to  the  Club  at  night 
through  the  ruins  of  the  burnt  district  usually  walked  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  and  carried  a  pistol  in  his  pocket.  The 
attendance  of  the  Club  became  so  meager  that  its  officers  re- 
fused to  accept  reelection,  and  the  members  began  to  resign 
in  such  large  numbers  that  those  left  finally  voted  to  dis- 
band. In  this  emergency,  N.  K.  Fairbank,  with  character- 
istic public  spirit,  offered  to  buy  a  lot  and  build  a  club- 
house where  DeJonghe's  restaurant  now  stands,  opposite 
the  Monroe  Street  entrance  of  the  Palmer  House.  The  Club 
moved  into  its  new  building  in  July,  1876.  It  was  regarded 
as  a  marvel  of  luxury  at  that  time  and  for  sixty  days  mem- 
bers were  allowed  to  bring  in  residents  to  view  its  splendor, 
also  to  have  lady  guests  on  Thursday  of  each  week.  With  a 
view  to  increasing  the  membership  and  dispelling  any  sus- 
picions which  might  still  linger  in  the  feminine  mind  as  to 
the  character  of  the  Club,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fairbank  gave  an 
evening  reception  in  the  new  Club-house,  which  gave  rise 
to  a  fierce  argument  between  the  older  and  younger  ele- 
ments of  the  Club  as  to  whether  evening-dress  was  obliga- 
tory on  such  occasions. 

On  September  13,  1878,  the  Club  gave  a  reception  to 
President  and  Mrs.  Hayes,  who  happened  to  be  passing 
through  Chicago.  The  reception  committee  on  this  occa- 


THE  CHICAGO  CLUB  211 

sion  consisted  of  General  Sheridan,  Franklin  MacVeagh, 
Levi  Z.  Leiter,  Ezra  B.  McCagg,  and  George  C.  Clarke. 
On  November  14,  1879,  the  Club  gave  a  reception  to  Gen- 
eral and  Mrs.  Grant  on  their  return  from  a  trip  around  the 
world.  It  was  notable  for  a  reunion  of  the  "Blue  and  the 
Gray"  in  the  cafe,  which  lasted  until  the  small  hours  of  the 
morning.  As  Judge  Lochrane  of  Georgia,  an  ex-Confeder- 
ate, rose  to  speak,  Henry  Norton,  amid  general  applause, 
threw  an  American  flag  over  Lochrane's  shoulders.  Without 
a  moment's  preparation,  the  Judge,  who  was  an  eloquent 
speaker,  made  an  address  so  mingled  with  pathos  and  pa- 
triotism, that  his  audience  at  one  moment  was  almost 
weeping,  and  at  the  next  wildly  cheering.  This  was  the  last 
public  reception  ever  given  by  the  Chicago  Club,  with  the 
exception  of  the  one  it  tendered  its  president,  Robert  T. 
Lincoln,  eleven  years  later,  May  29,  1890,  on  his  appoint- 
ment as  minister  to  England. 

In  those  days  a  number  of  the  younger  members,  who 
were  of  sociable  habits,  lived  in  the  Club  and  were  fuller 
blooded  and  more  riotous  livers  than  their  successors.  The 
genus  might  now  be  termed  extinct.  A  crowd  of  them  were 
in  the  habit  of  coming  from  the  Board  of  Trade  in  an  omni- 
bus, rushing  into  the  hall  of  the  Club-house  at  noon  and 
finishing  their  trades  while  they  ordered  their  lunch.  At 
night  their  favorite  rendezvous  was  the  billiard-room, 
which  was  in  the  basement  adjoining  the  bar.  Here  they 
held  frequent  meetings,  appointing  a  chairman,  whose  duty 
was  to  see  that  hospitality  was  equitably  distributed,  and 
a  sergeant-at-arms,  robust  enough  to  be  able  to  remove 
such  members  as  became  obstreperous,  or  otherwise  violated 
proprieties,  to  the  adjoining  coal-cellar,  where  they  re- 


212  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

mained  until  they  promised  repentance  and  "liquidated" 
their  fines.  "Derby  Day"  at  the  old  Washington  Park  Club 
was  a  great  occasion  for  this  crowd.  There  was  a  big  table 
d'hote  dinner  that  night,  and  from  the  moment  the  first 
arrivals,  in  the  stampede  for  town,  began  to  come  in,  until 
the  last  noisy  reveler  sought  his  couch  in  the  early  morning's 
light,  there  was  continuous  celebration. 

In  contrast  to  this  noisy  crowd,  a  group  may  be  mentioned 
more  characteristic  of  the  serious  and  commercial  nature  of 
the  Club,  a  number  of  men  sometimes  referred  to  as  compos- 
ing the  "millionaires'  table."  The  men  who  started  it,— 
Robert  T.  Lincoln,  Edward  S.  Isham,  Henry  W.  Bishop,  and 
Norman  Williams,  —  were  anything  but  millionaires  at  that 
time.  These  young  men,  all  college-bred,  and  of  distinguish- 
ed antecedents,  came  to  Chicago  about  the  same  time  and 
formed  a  friendship  which  was  never  broken.  Henry  W.  Bish- 
op was  for  several  years  president  of  the  Union  Club,  on  the 
North  Side,  and  later  of  the  Chicago  Club,  and  as  such  was 
noted  for  his  urbanity  and  tact.  Norman  Williams,  who  suc- 
ceeded him  as  president  of  the  Chicago  Club,  was  such  a  de- 
lightful and  amusing  companion,  so  bubbling  over  with  kind- 
ness and  good-fellowship,  that  he  might  have  been  called  the 
most  popular  man  in  Chicago.  Edward  S.  Isham,  their  com- 
panion, soon  became  known  as  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
young  attorneys  in  Chicago.  His  partner,  Robert  T.  Lin- 
coln, although  he  was  the  son  of  Abraham  Lincoln  and  be- 
came Secretary  of  War  and  Minister  to  England,  was 
simple  and  unassuming,  and  much  too  straightforward  for 
political  life. 

The  "millionaire"  element  of  the  round  table  consisted 
of  Marshall  Field,  George  M.  Pullman,  N.  K.  Fairbank, 


THE  CHICAGO  CLUB  213 

John  Crerar,  and  T.  B.  Blackstone.  Marshall  Field,  a  tall, 
dignified  man,  with  hair  and  mustache  prematurely  gray,  a 
fresh  complexion,  clear-cut  features,  and  keen,  blue  eyes, 
would  pass  in  Europe  for  a  nobleman  or  a  diplomat  rather 
than  a  business  man.  George  M.  Pullman  also  was  endowed 
with  a  striking  personality,  an  expression  of  calm  confidence 
and  resolution  which  never  changed.  N.  K.  Fairbank,  with- 
out whom  the  Club  would  not  be  in  existence,  was  for  fourteen 
years  reflected  its  president.  He  was  a  man  of  distinguished 
appearance,  a  born  leader  and  a  daring  speculator,  who 
won  and  lost  several  fortunes  in  his  day,  and  was  prominent 
in  every  public  and  charitable  movement  of  his  time.  John 
Crerar  was  one  of  the  most  original  characters  in  the  social 
life  of  his  day,  an  old  bachelor,  with  strongly-marked  traits 
from  his  Scotch  ancestry.  In  appearance,  he  was  the  typical 
British  capitalist,  with  florid  complexion,  white  side-whis- 
kers, and  merry  blue  eyes  twinkling  under  bushy  white 
eyebrows.  For  forty  years  no  social  function  in  Chicago  was 
complete  without  his  cheery  presence.  While  he  was  alive 
he  headed  every  subscription  list,  and  when  he  died  he  left 
a  large  fortune  to  the  city.  Heaven  send  us  more  such! 

Henry  W.  King  seldom  missed  a  noonday  meal  at  the 
round  table.  He  was  president  of  the  Relief  and  Aid  Society, 
which  distributed  several  millions  in  charity  after  the  great 
fire.  He  was  also  a  pillar  of  the  Fourth  Presbyterian  Church, 
and,  on  account  of  the  social  activities  of  his  family  and 
the  interest  he  took  in  his  neighborhood,  was  sometimes  called 
"the  mayor  of  Rush  Street."  Among  others,  who  at  various 
times  frequented  the  round  table,  may  be  mentioned  John  de 
Koven,  director  of  half  a  dozen  railways  and  banks,  a  thor- 
ough man  of  the  world,  generous  and  companionable;  L.  Z. 


214  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Leiter,  the  father  of  Lady  Curzon,  a  short,  broad-shoul- 
dered man,  a  shrewd  investor  with  very  decided  opinions  and 
a  voice  often  raised  in  their  defense ;  Charles  B.  Farwell,  a  bro- 
ther of  John  V.  Farwell,  and  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Club, 
who  rounded  out  a  successful  business  career  by  becoming 
a  United  States  Senator;  General  Anson  Stager,  the  father 
of  Lady  Arthur  Butler,  a  nervous  little  man,  who  was  a 
general  favorite  and  played  an  important  part  in  the  Civil 
War,  as  well  as  in  building  up  the  telegraph  system  of  the 
country;  General  A.  C.  McClurg,  a  gentleman  of  the  finest 
character  and  culture,  who  acquitted  himself  with  credit  in 
the  Civil  War;  Franklin  MacVeagh,  a  man  of  fine  critical 
and  social  abilities,  a  college-bred  business-man  and  a  student 
of  politics,  who  became  Secretary  of  the  Treasury ;  John  M. 
Clark,  another  standard-bearer  of  reform,  whose  strong  face 
and  cheery  voice  inspired  confidence;  Edson  Keith  and  Ezra 
Warner,  representative  business  men,  of  fine  appearance  and 
courteous  manners;  the  two  Spragues  (A.  A. and O.  S.  A.), 
Warner's  partners,  college  men  and  conspicuous  in  every  pub- 
lic and  charitable  movement ;  George  C.  Clarke,  whose  attrac- 
tive personality  won  him  many  friends;  and  B.  F.  Ayer,  for 
many  years  attorney  of  the  Illinois  Central  Railway,  and 
one  of  the  original  members  of  the  Club.  The  Monroe  Street 
location  in  a  few  years  was  found  to  be  too  much  in  the 
business  center;  the  Club-house  also  had  run  down  and  be- 
come dark  and  noisy,  so,  the  year  before  the  Exposition,  the 
Club  bought  the  Art  Institute  building  for  the  sum  of 
$425,000,  and  remodeled  it.  The  land  alone  would  sell  now 
for  three  times  what  was  then  paid  for  it. 

The  Exposition  of  1893,  like  the  great  fire  of  1871,  marked 
an  epoch  in  the  history  of  Chicago,  as  well  as  in  American 


THE  CHICAGO  CLUB  215 

architecture.  Nothing  of  the  kind  had  been  attempted  be- 
fore and  its  beautiful  white  palaces,  connected  by  colonnades 
and  bridges,  were  a  dream  of  beauty  mirrored  in  the  waters 
of  the  lagoons  and  lake.  The  swarms  of  graceful  gondolas 
which  carried  the  crowds  from  one  building  to  another  en- 
hanced this  Venetian  effect.  The  exposition  closed  an  era 
which  might  be  referred  to  as  the  "Middle  Ages,"  and 
marked  the  adoption  of  metropolitan  standards  in  the 
future  social  and  business  life  of  our  city.  It  was  as  much  of 
an  education  to  the  people  who  produced  this  splendid 
spectacle,  as  it  was  to  the  strangers  who  extolled  their  public 
spirit  and  liberality.  As  a  foreign  diplomat  expressed  it 
"What  we  see  here  was  what  we  might  have  expected  in 
Paris:  and  what  we  saw  in  Paris  was  all  we  expected  here." 
During  the  eventful  summer  of  1893,  Chicago  was  the 
country's  center.  Artists  and  journalists  rubbed  shoulders 
with  titled  foreigners,  and  French,  German,  and  Spanish 
were  heard  in  the  halls  of  our  new  Club,  —  this,  then,  would 
seem  a  fitting  place  to  close  its  history,  which  has  since 
differed  little  from  that  of  other  clubs. 


XIV 

THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES 
BY  MRS.  FREDERICK  T.  WEST 

IT  is  not  paucity  of  years,  but  the  lack  of  a  good  memory, 
which  will  make  the  facts  here  set  down  so  few  and  far 
between.  Then,  too,  to  my  great  regret,  I  did  not  glean  as 
much  from  my  elders  of  those  thrillingly  interesting  early 
days  as  I  now  wish  I  had. 

My  uncle,  Charles  Butler, *  was  the  first  member  of  our 
family  to  come  to  Chicago.  His  description  of  the  journey 
from  New  York  to  Chicago  in  1833  dwells  on  the  beauties 
of  the  Erie  Canal  as  far  as  Buffalo;  then  describes  the  near- 
ly three-days'  lake  trip  from  there  to  Detroit.  From  the 
latter  place  he  and  a  friend  proceeded  on  Indian  ponies,  by 
trail,  to  Fort  Dearborn,  taking  ten  days  to  cover  the  three 
hundred  miles. 

There  were  only  a  few  hundred  inhabitants  in  the  town 
at  this  date,  and  not  more  than  twenty  houses.  But  my 
uncle  writes:  "Chicago  is  a  beautiful  place;  the  north  and 
south  branches  of  the  Chicago  River  unite  in  the  center  of 
the  town  and  form  a  beautiful  river, 2  .  .  . "  He  stayed  at 
the  Green  Tree  tavern  on  the  point  formed  by  the  junction 
of  these  two  streams,  from  which  he  says  the  view  was  very 
lovely.  Considering  present  conditions  in  this  section  of  the 
city,  it  is  amusing  to  read  what  he  writes  of  its  charms  in 

1  Charles  Butler  married  Eliza  Ogden,  eldest  sister  of  MahlonD.  Ogden. 

2  Life  and  Letters  of  Charles  Butler. 


THROUGH  A   CHILD'S  EYES  217 

those  days  of  long  ago.  But  he  not  only  saw  its  charms,  he 
saw  its  possibilities ;  and,  encouraged  by  my  uncle's  view  of 
the  situation,  his  friend  and  travelling  companion  bought  a 
large  tract  of  land.  This  included  one-half  of  Kinzie's  Addi- 
tion, which  runs  from  the  river  to  Chicago  Avenue,  and 
from  the  lake  to  forty  feet  west  of  State  Street,  and  the 
whole  of  Wolcott's  Addition,  which  runs  from  Kinzie  Street 
to  Chicago  Avenue,  and  from  forty  feet  west  of  State  Street 
to  one-hundred  and  nine  feet  west  of  LaSalle  Avenue;  also 
Block  "  1 "  in  the  original  town,  running  from  Kinzie  Street 
to  the  river  and  from  forty  feet  west  of  State  Street  to 
Dearborn  Avenue.  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that 
in  those  days  the  lake  came  almost  to  Pine  Street,  or  North 
Michigan  Avenue  as  it  is  now  called.  For  this  large  piece  of 
property  the  lordly  sum  of  $20,000  was  paid.  The  next  year 
Mr.  Butler  and  some  of  his  friends  bought  this  same  tract  for 
$100,000,  and  the  following  year,  1835,  he  persuaded  his  bro- 
ther-in-law, William  Butler  Ogden,  to  come  to  Chicago  to  take 
charge  of  it.  The  property  looked  very  unattractive  to  the  lat- 
ter on  his  arrival.  It  was  marshy,  muddy,  and  covered  with 
scrub-oak  and  underbrush.  There  was  a  Government  auction 
coming  on.  To  take  advantage  of  this,  streets  and  lots  were 
laid  out  in  the  new  purchase,  and  it  was  ready  for  sale  in 
the  required  time.  Although  it  was  only  two  years  since  the 
first  transfer,  one-third  of  this  property  sold  for  $100,000. 
In  the  next  year,  my  father,  Mahlon  Dickerson  Ogden,  a 
young  college  graduate,  just  having  been  admitted  to  the 
bar,  came  to  Chicago. 

Letters  written  in  1850  tell  of  how  my  aunts  used  to  spend 
two  days  a  week  with  each  other;  how  their  children  were 
carefully  drilled  in  their  French  lessons,  these  same  lessons 


218  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

being  bestowed  by  a  very  charming  Swede,  Count  von 
Schneidau;1  how  two  evenings  a  week  all  the  members  of 
the  family,  including  the  children,  and  a  few  of  the  neigh- 
bors, met  together  and  danced,  "It  amused  the  children  and 
improved  their  manners." 

A  mist  of  happiness  and  content  seems  to  envelop  my 
childhood  days,  through  which  I  can  see  very  little  of  the 
outer  world.  A  large  and  devoted  family  circle,  constantly 
intermingling,  is  the  background.  Doubtless  we  took  meals 
alone,  but  I  cannot  remember  ever  doing  so.  There  were 
always  several  house-guests,  who  often  stayed  for  weeks  at 
a  time,  an  evidence  of  the  hospitality  so  universal  at  that 
period.  These  visitors  were  of  all  sorts  and  kinds,  and,  to 
my  childish  eyes,  very  interesting  and  delightful,  even  in- 
cluding a  young  man  of  our  own  name  which,  he  seemed  to 
think,  entitled  him  to  stay  indefinitely.  My  surprise  was 
great  when  one  day  I  overheard  my  parents  discussing  how 
they  might  persuade  him  to  leave,  for  they  had  become 
convinced  that  he  was  really  an  adventurer.  One  friend 
spent  an  entire  winter  with  us,  to  be  under  the  doctor's 
care.  Of  her  stay,  I  remember  nothing,  but  her  going  is  in- 
delibly impressed  upon  my  mind,  for  when  we  went  to  help 
her  to  her  carriage,  there  stood,  not  only  the  carriage,  but 
a  little  ball  of  a  black  pony  with  a  red  velvet  saddle,  her 
gift  and  my  delight  for  years  to  come. 

I  can  only  remember  the  interior  of  three  houses,  besides 
our  own,  before  the  Fire,  and  they  were  those  of  my  aunts, 
Mrs.  Jonathan  Young  Scammon  and  Mrs.  Ezra  Butler 
McCagg,  and  of  my  uncle,  William  B.  Ogden.  Mr.  Scam- 

1  His  daughter  was  adopted  by  William  B.  Ogden  and  afterwards  became 
Mrs.  Eugene  N.  Jerome,  of  New  York  City. 


THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES  219 

mon's  house  stood  on  Michigan  Avenue,  just  above  Con- 
gress Street,  its  lovely  garden  occupying  the  spot  where  the 
Auditorium  Hotel  and  Theater  now  stand.  This  was  the 
last  house  to  burn  in  both  of  the  great  fires.  It  was  blown 
up  at  the  time  of  the  first  by  General  Sheridan,  to  arrest 
further  southward  progress  of  the  flames.  When  one  thinks 
of  the  traffic  on  this  corner  now,  it  is  amusing  to  picture  our 
favorite  sport  when  we  went  down  there  on  summer  even- 
ings. It  consisted  of  a  run  and  jump  across  the  street  which 
enabled  us  to  clear  successfully  the  rail  fence  that  con- 
served the  beauties  of  what  is  now  Grant  Park  from  too 
great  trespassing  on  the  part  of  the  public.  This  process  had 
a  never-ending  charm,  and  how  proud  we  were  when,  occa- 
sionally, we  could  prevail  on  the  beautiful  Miss  Louise 
Clark,  who  lived  next  door,  to  join  us ! 

Mr.  Scammon's  library  is  the  room  which  stands  out 
most  prominently  in  my  mind.  It  was  big  and  high  and 
filled  with  books  in  every  possible  corner;  books,  by  the 
way,  mostly  bound  in  brown  leather,  with  a  shield  derived 
from  Mr.  Scammon's  Swedenborgian  proclivities,  in  gilt  on 
the  back  of  every  one  of  them.  The  largest  globe  I  have 
ever  seen  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and  a  large  orrery 
in  another.  Both  interested  me  intensely  and,  to  this  day,  I 
wonder  over  Mr.  Scammon's  unfailing  kindness  and  pa- 
tience in  explaining  them  to  me. 

It  was  these  same  books  that  were  saved  when,  on  the 
morning  of  the  great  fire  of  October  9,  1871,  many  team- 
sters, whom  Mr.  Scammon  happened  to  be  employing  at  the 
time,  came  and  backed  up  their  carts  alongside  of  the  house 
proffering  their  use  as  vans.  Mr.  Scammon  sent  the  loaded 
vans  forth  into  the  unknown,  anywhere  to  escape  the  destruc- 


220  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

tion  approaching  on  every  side.  In  this  connection  it  may  be 
interesting  to  know  that  two  young  men,  Robert  Lincoln  and 
John  Hay,  came  to  Mrs.  Scammon  that  morning  to  offer 
what  help  they  could,  but  when  they  saw  the  rather  whole- 
sale way  in  which  she  was  planning  to  move  her  belongings, 
they  advised  against  it,  saying  it  might  complicate  her  in- 
surance arrangements  later  on.  Considering  the  condition 
of  the  insurance  companies  that  fall,  it  was  fortunate  that 
Mrs.  Scammon  took  counsel  of  the  heavens  by  ascending 
to  the  lookout  on  the  top  of  the  house,  and,  influenced 
by  their  angry  glow,  decided  to  move  everything  she  could 
lay  her  hands  on. 

I  like  to  think  of  its  being  Colonel  Loomis  who  roused  the 
Scammon  family,  as  well  as  the  whole  of  Michigan  Avenue, 
to  their  dangers,  that  morning.  I  can  see  him  now,  mounted 
on  one  of  his  seven  black  horses,  with  his  army -blanket 
behind  him,  riding  up  and  down  the  street.  It  was  a  verit- 
able call  to  arms,  for  surely  it  was  a  deadly  foe  they  had  to 
fight. 

Of  the  north-side  houses,  William  B.  Ogden's  is  the  one 
I  remember  least  distinctly,  though  a  picture  comes  to  my 
mind  of  being  there  one  lovely  spring  morning  and  finding 
my  aunt,  Fanny  Sheldon,  sitting  on  a  wide,  side  piazza  with 
her  work,  a  large  cage  with  her  beloved  cooing  ring-doves 
and  her  dogs  beside  her.  The  flowering  shrubs  were  in  bloom 
and  the  square  between  Rush  and  Cass,  Ontario  and  Erie 
streets,  was  a  delightful  spot  in  which  to  wander.  Not  the 
least  interesting  thing  was  the  smoke-house,  where  were 
cured  the  hams,  —  a  delicious  place  and  most  fascinating 
to  us  children.  The  main  dwelling  was  spacious,  with  large 
and  high  rooms  which  my  youthful  memories  ever  picture 


THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES  221 

filled  with  guests.  There  were  in  those  days  no  clubs,  fine 
restaurants,  or  other  general  rendezvous  for  gregarious  and 
cultivated  people,  so  many  of  the  interesting  men  and  women 
who  visited  the  young  city  of  the  West,  gathered  under 
William  B.  Ogden's  roof. 

Samuel  J.  Tilden  was  a  great  friend  of  his  and  a  frequent 
visitor  at  the  Ogden  home.  How  we  children  dreaded  the 
advent  of  New  York's  famous  governor!  If  the  older  mem- 
bers of  the  family  were  not  at  home,  one  of  us  had  to  give 
the  two  gentlemen  their  tea.  How  many  afternoons  I  have 
sat,  impatiently  waiting  for  them  to  finish  their  tea,  —  a 
protracted  feast,  as  you  may  imagine,  as  Mr.  Tilden  was 
known  to  take  as  many  as  eighteen  cups  of  tea.  What 
wouldn't  I  give  now  to  remember  what  they  talked  about! 
But  nothing  remains  with  me  beyond  recollections  of  my 
longings  to  get  back  to  my  game  of  "I  Spy." 

At  Mrs.  McCagg's  house,  which  stood  in  a  large  garden  on 
North  Clark  between  Chestnut  and  Locust  streets,  everyone 
sang  or  played  some  musical  instrument.  It  is  here  I  remem- 
ber William  B.  Ogden,  sitting  at  the  piano,  both  playing 
and  singing  his  favorite  airs,  Guide  Me,  0  Thou  Great  Je- 
hovah; Martha;  Rise  My  Soul  and  Stretch  Thy  Wings,  Thy 
Better  Portion  Trace,  being  most  prominent  among  them. 

My  cousin,  Louis  McCagg,  writes :  — 

"I  remember  our  house  in  Chicago  with  much  clearness. 
The  two  parlors,  dining-room,  and  library,  as  well  as  my 
mother's  bedroom,  and  the  nursery,  all  on  the  ground  floor 
in  the  good  old  generous  way.  1  have  vague  memories,  too, 
of  much  company  in  the  house,  music,  and  especially  quar- 
tette singing  by  amateurs.  Mrs.  George  B.  Carpenter,  Mrs. 


222  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Stella  Dyer  Loring  (Louis  Dyer's  sister),  Mr.  Nillson,  and 
*  Jim*  Kelly,  are  names  I  recall ;  also  George  Bostwick,  who 
had  a  beautiful  baritone  voice." 

Louis  forgets  to  mention  that  all  the  older  members  of 
the  family,  including  the  eastern  cousins  who  were  after- 
wards Mrs.  C.  C.  Tiffany,  of  New  York,  and  Mrs.  A.  C. 
McClurg  of  this  city,  took  part  in  this  singing.  The  letter 
continues :  — 

"Showing  in  what  near  relation  that  part  of  the  North 
Side l  stood  to  the  country  in  those  days,  I  remember  hear- 
ing that  a  fox  had  been  caught  in  our  place  when  I  was  a 
very  little  boy ;  and  I  distinctly  remember  discovering  a  nest 
of  little  wild  rabbits  in  the  grass  near  its  southern  border. 
The  Lake  Shore  Drive  was  something  very  new  and  very 
primitive;  part  of  it  ran  through  or  alongside  a  cemetery. 
Then  you  came  to  some  land  belonging,  I  think,  to  the  New- 
berrys,  which  they  would  not  let  one  drive  across  and  a 
detour  had  to  be  made.  But  what  a  treat  it  was  if  you  caught 
sight  of  Potter  Palmer  driving  four-in-hand,  with  his  old 
mother,  in  her  Quaker  garb,  beside  him;  of  Fitzhugh  White- 
house  driving  tandem,  with  a  negro  groom  up  behind!" 

The  library  referred  to  by  my  cousin  had  a  large  bay- 
window  at  one  end,  but  was  chiefly  lighted  by  a  skylight 
from  above.  It  was  faced  with  books  from  floor  to  ceiling. 
Here  was  my  first  experience  with  one  of  the  little  travelling 
ladders  by  means  of  which  one  reached  the  topmost  vol- 

1  The  square  between  Clark  Street  and  La  Salle  Avenue,  Locust  and  Chestnut 
streets. 


THROUGH  A   CHILD'S  EYES  223 

umes.  It  was  a  fascinating  affair,  and  we  children  used  to 
peek  around  the  corner  to  see  if  "Uncle  McCagg"  looked 
serene  enough  for  us  to  venture  to  beg  the  privilege  of 
mounting  its  dizzy  height.  Here,  too,  hung  some  carved 
scallop  shells  telling,  as  with  the  knights  of  old,  of 
the  McCagg  pilgrimage  to  Palestine,  Jerusalem,  and  Mount 
Sinai,  made  with  my  aunt  and  uncle,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edwin  H. 
Sheldon,  in  1854.  How  they  made  me  hope  and  pray  that 
some  day  I,  too,  might  earn  the  right  to  such  trophies ! 

In  thinking  of  the  venturesome  souls  who  braved  those 
early  days  in  the  West,  one  is  apt  to  forget  that  they  all 
came  from  the  East,  and  that  most  of  them  were  accus- 
tomed to  every  refinement  and  all  the  existing  amenities  of 
life  in  an  older  part  of  our  country.  The  difficulties  of  pro- 
viding themselves  with  comforts,  to  say  nothing  of  luxuries, 
were,  of  course,  nearly  insurmountable,  even  as  late  as 
in  1854.  My  mother  used  to  tell  a  tale  of  the  vexatious  de- 
lays and  ultimate  disappointment  when,  in  her  early  married 
life,  she  had  secured  a  very  lovely  Wilton  carpet  in  New 
York,  and  how  impatiently  she  waited  for  the  carpet,  which 
was  an  interminable  time  in  arriving.  The  boat  by  which  it 
was  shipped,  the  method  by  which  all  freight  came  in  those 
days,  ran  into  one  of  the  furious  lake  storms  we  all  know 
so  well,  and  went  to  the  bottom.  The  transportation  com- 
pany, however,  got  it  up,  and  delivered  the  carpet  in  ap- 
parently perfect  condition.  It  was  put  down  and  much  en- 
joyed, until  the  hot  weather  came,  when  an  Egyptian  plague 
of  flies  settled  down  upon  it.  Investigation  disclosed  the  fact 
that  the  main  cargo  of  the  boat  by  which  it  had  been  shipped 
had  been  molasses,  with  which  the  carpet  had  become  sat- 
urated. So,  though  the  company  had  had  it  thoroughly 


224  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

cleansed,  as  they  supposed,  the  flies  were  not  to  be  deceived. 
Of  course,  it  had  to  be  entirely  destroyed. 

My  mother  was  only  six  years  old  when  she  came  West. 
Her  father,  General  William  Billings  Sheldon,  of  Delhi,  N. 
Y.,  suffered  from  asthma  which  he  thought  the  change  of 
climate  would  cure.  She  remembered,  in  the  very  first  of  her 
days  in  the  new  country,  a  little  girl  coming  to  school  with 
her  dress  very  neatly  pinned  down  the  back  with  thorns 
from  a  thorn-apple  tree,  nature's  substitute  for  pins  which 
were  not  then  as  plentiful  as  now. 

To  pass  on  to  the  great  event  of  my  childhood  - 
The  day  of  October  9,  1871,  began  for  us  about  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  when  the  watchman  roused  my  father  at  our 
home  at  North  Dearborn  Street  and  what  is  now  Walton 
Place,  and  told  him  that  there  was  a  fire  which  was  spreading 
rapidly,  suggesting  that  he  might  like  to  go  to  his  office  be- 
fore it  was  too  late.  This  my  father  did  at  once,  thus  being 
able  to  bring  home  a  buggy-full  of  books  and  papers.  The 
office  vaults,  however,  did  their  work  well,  so  a  duplicate  of 
the  official  city  atlas,  written  up  to  within  a  week  of  the 
day  of  the  Fire,  was  saved  in  perfect  order. 1  This  was  the 
more  fortunate  as  the  originals  at  the  City  Hall  were  com- 
pletely destroyed.  My  father  used  to  tell  me  how  he  was 
the  last  person  to  cross  Rush  Street  bridge  before  it  fell. 
Later,  but  still  in  the  early  morning,  I  was  amazed  to  find 
a  strange  woman  in  my  mother's  bed,  and  was  told  she  was 
ill  and  had  been  brought  for  safety  from  the  Sherman 
House.  She  was  moved  on  after  a  time,  and  we  never  knew 
who  she  was.  Then  I  opened  the  front  door  to  see  what  was 
going  on  outside.  The  vestibule  was  a  large  one  and,  on  either 

1  From  letters  written  by  Edwin  H.  Sheldon,  October  19,  1871. 


THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES  225 

side  of  the  door,  stood  a  good-sized  arm-chair.  In  these  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  William  M.  Scudder  were  discovered  sitting,  cry- 
ing bitterly,  and  each  holding  a  bird-cage.  The  sight  beyond 
beggared  description.  Nothing  but  flames  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  The  scene  was  like  a  vast  roaring  furnace. 
Against  this  background  the  New  England  Church,  ablaze 
from  steeple  to  cellar,  stood,  roof  gone,  with  sparks  and 
jets  of  fire  outlining  each  rafter. 

At  this  point,  my  father  came  in,  after  having  battled  in 
vain  with  the  flames  at  Mr.  McCagg's  house,  saying,  "  Does 
anyone  know  anything  about  Grandma  McCagg?"  as  we 
all  called  Mr.  McCagg's  dear  old  mother.  No  one  knew.  It 
was  not  a  morning  to  think  of  much  beside  the  immediate 
present. 

"I  must  go  and  find  her,"  said  he,  and  off  he  rushed  into 
that  vortex  of  flames,  on  foot,  for  it  was  something  no  horse 
would  have  faced.  I  was  frightened  then,  for  it  did  not  seem  as 
if  he  could  come  back  alive.  He  found  her  with  her  daughter, 
Miss  Carrie  McCagg,  sitting  in  the  McCagg  house  quite  com- 
posedly and  unconscious  of  their  imminent  danger.  A  few 
minutes  more  and  rescue  would  have  been  impossible.  The  old 
lady  was  very  feeble  and,  after  walking  a  short  way,  gave  out 
entirely :  it  was  an  ugly  few  minutes  to  remember,  my  father 
afterwards  said.  He  stood  by  her  side  in  the  street  where 
the  air  was  already  suffocatingly  hot,  she,  unable  to  move, 
and  he,  equally  unable  to  carry  or  leave  her.  But  just  at 
this  juncture,  Mr.  Sullivan,  the  painter,  dashed  by  in  an 
express  wagon.  It  took  but  a  moment  to  hail  him  and  help 
her  into  the  vehicle.  So  all  came  safely  forth  from  their 
terrible  danger. 

The  streets  were  already  very  crowded,  almost  everyone 


226  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

walking,  and  almost  everyone  loaded  down  with  a  burden  of 
some  kind  or  other  —  empty  picture-frames,  washbowls  and 
pitchers,  mirrors,  and  what-not.  Our  block  was  the  first  en- 
closed open  space  they  had  passed  in  a  long  time,  so  many 
a  Christian  divested  himself  of  his  pack  and  threw  it  over 
the  fence,  to  be  reclaimed  or  not  later  on.  Such  a  crop  of 
piano-legs  as  met  our  amazed  eyes  on  our  return  home  after 
our  own  hurried  flight,  I  imagine,  no  one  ever  saw  before 
or  since ! 

And  our  flight  was  hurried,  for  my  father,  from  the  first, 
expressed  his  conviction  that  our  house  would  not  burn. 
Of  course  its  position  was  most  advantageous,  standing, 
as  it  did,  in  the  middle  of  the  square *  between  Lafayette 
(now  Walton)  Place  and  Oak  Street,  and  Dearborn  and 
Clark  streets,  and  in  the  midst  of  large  elm  trees,  all  of 
which,  by  the  way,  my  father  had  planted  himself.  Wash- 
ington Square,  with  its  many  trees  was  directly  in  front  of 
us,  and  the  block  containing  only  my  aunt's  house  diag- 
onally to  the  southwest.  All  this  vacant  space  was  a  great 
protection,  though  it  didn't  seem  sufficient,  as  the  huge  fire- 
brands fell  about  us  in  fiery  showers.  The  heat  from  the 
flames  to  the  east  was  so  intense  that  it  was  quite  uncom- 
fortable to  sit  at  the  side  of  the  breakfast-table  nearest 
the  windows.  Breakfast  was  served  to  any  and  all  who 
cared  to  stop  for  it.  And  still  we  had  no  thought  of  leaving 
the  house. 

Finally,  about  eleven  o'clock,  Major  Daniel  Goodwin 

came  in  and  insisted  that,  if  my  father  would  not  go  himself, 

he  should  at  least  send  my  mother  and  the  children.  I  don't 

remember  any  especial  excitement,  but  there  must  have 

1  The  present  site  of  the  Newberry  Library. 


THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES  227 

been  some,  for  we  made  the  trip  to  Lakeview  in  a  lumber- 
wagon,  my  mother  sitting  on  a  trunk  filled  with  family 
silver.  Our  regular  carriage-horses  were  standing  harnessed 
in  the  barn.  Later  in  the  day,  they  appeared  with  a  relative- 
in-law,  of  whom  we  were  none  of  us  very  fond,  sitting  in 
solitary  grandeur  on  the  back  seat  of  the  big  carriage!  By 
the  time  the  carriage  reached  the  Goodwins,  where  we  had 
gone  for  safety,  everyone  had  become  convinced  that  the 
flames  were  still  pursuing,  so  once  more  we  started  forth, 
this  time  across  the  prairie  to  Riverside.  Here  we  stayed 
until  the  following  Thursday. 

Many  friends  and  acquaintances  were  there,  too,  in  the 
large  new  hotel,  and  never  shall  I  forget  the  looks  on  their 
faces,  when,  one  evening,  the  band  began  playing  Home, 
Sweet  Home!  Having  been  one  of  those  cheerfully  tone- 
deaf  children,  I  could  not  imagine  why  one  of  the  party 
made  such  a  dash  for  the  leader,  bringing  the  music  to  an 
ignominious  ending.  In  those  telephoneless  days  news  trav- 
elled slowly,  but  many  tales  came  to  us  from  the  burned 
district.  We  heard  that  our  house,  like  everyone  else's,  had 
gone,  and  that  my  father  and  all  the  men  who  stayed  to 
fight  the  fire  with  him  had  been  burned.  So  you  may  im- 
agine with  what  thankful  hearts  we  listened  to  William  W. 
K.  Nixon  when  he  brought  us  word  that  all  were  safe,  and 
we  were  to  return  home  the  next  day. 

Such  a  trip!  And  such  desolation!  The  scorched,  black- 
ened, and  leafless  trees  -  -  and  there  were  many  of  them, 
I  remember  thinking  —  were  one  of  the  most  painful  evi- 
dences of  the  fiery  storm.  Never  shall  I  forget  jolting  over 
those  burned,  hollow  blocks  of  "Nicholson"  pavement,  as 
we  drove  up  the  absolutely  deserted  streets.  Not  another 


228  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

soul  was  in  sight.  Years  afterwards,  in  going  through  Hol- 
land on  my  bicycle,  I  was  transported  in  a  trice  to  this 
same  dismal  afternoon,  when  a  portion  of  the  old  brick 
pavement  just  outside  of  Haarlem,  worn  hollow  by  the 
tread  of  many  feet,  produced  exactly  the  same  effect  on  my 
little  wheel  that  the  fire-tortured  wooden  blocks  had  on  the 
old,  lumbering  carriage. 

But  there  was  our  home!  Our  yard  was  full  of  piano- 
legs,  and  eighteen  cows  had  taken  refuge  in  our  gar- 
den. These  same  cows  rather  appalled  us  at  first,  but  in 
the  end  they  proved  our  salvation,  for  no  one  claimed  them 
until  spring.  We  had  forty  people  in  our  house  all  that  win- 
ter. All  the  servants  of  the  various  members  of  the  family 
slept  on  mattresses  laid  in  rows  on  the  floor  in  the  large 
rooms  in  the  basement.  Upstairs  were  my  uncle,  Edwin  H. 
Sheldon,  and  his  son  and  daughter;  my  uncle  William  B. 
Ogden,  as  he  came  and  went;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Volney  Tur- 
ner; General  and  Mrs.  William  E.  Strong,  nurse,  and  baby; 
and  my  uncle,  E.  B.  McCagg,  for  part  of  the  time.  These 
are  some  of  the  many  who  come  to  my  mind  as  having 
spent  that  winter  with  us.  You  may  imagine  the  difficulties 
of  providing  for  such  a  family,  with  every  bridge  between 
us  and  the  West  or  South  Side  gone ! 

Our  nearest  neighbors  were  four  or  five  miles  away.  The 
only  method  of  reaching  a  shop  of  any  kind  was  by  way  of 
the  La  Salle  Street  tunnel,  which  was  pitch  black.  The  horses 
were  really  afraid  to  go  through  it,  so  it  seemed  quite  an 
adventure  to  undertake  it.  This,  however,  did  not  frighten 
me,  and  I  was  always  keen  to  go;  but  what  did  bring 
terror  to  my  soul  was  to  look  out  of  the  windows  after 
lights  were  out.  Every  forehanded  resident  had  apparently 


THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES  229 

gotten  in  his  winter  supply  of  coal  before  the  Fire,  and  as 
the  evil  eyes  of  these  many  smoldering  coal-piles  glared  at 
me  from  under  all  the  debris,  I  can  assure  you  I  scuttled 
into  bed  in  short  order.  We  were  under  martial  law  in  the 
city,  and  I  can  remember  the  men  going  out  with  their 
guns  to  keep  watch  every  night,  for  a  time.  This  was 
the  more  necessary,  as  it  seemed  there  was  some  ill- 
feeling  about  our  house  not  having  burned.  This  ill-will 
became  more  evident  after  we  had  achieved  many  new 
neighbors  in  the  hastily  run-up  barracks,  which  soon 
filled  Washington  Square.  Later  on,  smallpox  developed 
in  this  settlement,  so  I  imagine  my  elders  were  much 
relieved  when  one  night,  towards  spring,  these  buildings, 
having  served  their  purpose,  were  set  afire  and  burned  to 
the  ground. 

A  letter  from  William  B.  Ogden  to  his  niece,  Julia  Wheel- 
er, in  New  York,  written  from  Springfield,  Illinois,  October 
19,  1871,  only  ten  days  after  the  fire,  tells  so  well  of  the 
spirit  in  which  everyone  met  that  disaster  that  I  will  give 
some  extracts  from  it :  — 

"DEAR  JULIA: 

"You  will  have  learned  from  the  papers  and  from  a  let- 
ter I  wrote  Uncle  Charlie  much  of  the  particulars  of  the 
fire  that  destroyed  so  much  of  Chicago  so  ruthlessly  and 
so  completely.  It  was  an  awful,  unprecedented  catastrophe, 
wonderful,  almost  inexplicable,  and  in  a  good  degree,  incom- 
prehensible. 

"We  have  only  to  see  and  admit  that  it  is,  to  accept  it 
without  speculation  or  complaint  as  an  event  we  can  only 
deal  with  by  trying  to  repair,  so  far  as  we  may,  its  injury. 


230  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

This  I  have  set  myself  to  doing  cheerfully  and  with  confi- 
dence, but  hardly  in  the  expectation  of  ever  seeing  the  past 
literally  restored. 

"Chicago  will  be  built  up  again  in  good  time  and  will 
continue  to  expand  in  business,  wealth,  and  numbers, — 
perhaps  in  ten  years  may  contain  500,000  people,  —  but  a 
great  many  of  the  old  citizens  who  have  assisted  in  build- 
ing it  up,  and  lived  to  enjoy  it  thus  far  in  peace  and  great 
prosperity  and  happiness,  will  never,  I  fear,  be  able,  at  their 
more  advanced  period  of  life,  to  regain  their  former  posi- 
tions, but  will  be  obliged  to  give  place  to  new-comers  with 
money,  and  leave  to  others  the  city  they  have  assisted  so 
much  in  creating,  and  the  beauty  and  extent  of  which  crea- 
tion they  have  been  so  proud  of,  and  until  now  loved  and 
enjoyed  so  much.  It  is  a  sad  picture  and  result  to  contem- 
plate, and  yet  must  unavoidably  be  submitted  to  by  many, 
for  aught  I  can  see. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  should  be  entirely  willing,  so  far  as  I  am 
personally  concerned,  to  give  all  I  have  left,  and  to  live  and 
die  a  poor  man,  if  by  so  doing,  I  could  see  the  city  I  have 
loved,  enjoyed,  and  toiled  for  so  long  and  with  such  hope 
and  realization  and  joy,  restored  to  the  beautiful  and  happy 
position  it  occupied  previous  to  its  recent  unparalleled 
calamity.  Indeed,  I  might  well  give  the  remnant  of  life 
that  is  left  to  me  to  that  end  if  it  would  avail  anything,  but 
it  will  not.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  have  all  I  need  left, 
and  much  more  than  I  shall  need  personally,  but  with  many 
of  my  friends  and  neighbors  this  is  not  the  case. 

"I  am  here  to  aid  in  the  passage  of  a  bill  by  the  Legisla- 
ture restoring  to  Chicago  about  three  millions  of  dollars 
expended  by  that  city  in  deepening  the  State  Canal,  and 


THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES  231 

diverting  the  waters  of  Lake  Michigan  through  the  Chicago 
River  into  it,  to  the  perfect  cleansing  of  the  Chicago  River 
and  the  improvement  of  the  Canal. 

"The  bill  passed  a  few  hours  since,  and  I  go  home  to- 
night. With  the  money  it  provides,  we  are  to  rebuild  all  our 
bridges  and  our  public  buildings  where  they  now  stand,  are 
to  pay  interest  on  our  city  debt  for  years  to  come,  and  pro- 
vide for  our  fire  and  police  departments. 

"This  reestablishes  things  as  they  were,  overcomes  many 
obstacles,  gives  confidence  to  the  people  to  rebuild,  and  to 
capitalists  to  loan  the  money  to  do  so,  and  will  give  heart 
and  courage  to  all,  and  I  now  hope  to  see  active  and  hope- 
ful and  successful  efforts  in  reconstruction  everywhere. 
Were  not  the  winter  so  near  at  hand,  much  would  be  done 
before  spring.  .  .  . 

"Don't  understand  me  as  in  the  least  desponding  or  as 
pining  or  unhappy  on  account  of  all  that  has  happened 
here  so  far  as  it  concerns  me  personally,  for  that  would  be 
very  wide  of  the  fact.  On  my  account  not  an  hour's  grief 
or  unhappiness  should  I  suffer,  but  be  just  as  thankful  as 
ever  that  my  lot  and  path  in  life  are  strewn  with  so  many 
friends  and  flowers.  But  for  the  loss  of  the  beautiful  city 
I  spent  the  best  and  almost  the  majority  of  the  years  of 
my  life  in  assisting  to  build,  and  which  it  gave  me  such 
pleasure  to  labor  for,  and  the  growth,  expansion,  strength 
and  beauty  of  which  it  was  such  a  joy  to  see  —  I  do  grieve, 
—  and  far  more  for  the  greater  calamity  which  has  fallen  so 
much  more  severely  on  so  many  of  my  friends,  associates, 
and  co-laborers  in  that  great  and  interesting  work.  Never 
before  was  a  large  and  very  beautiful  and  fortunate  city 
built  by  a  generation  of  people  so  proud,  so  in  love  with 


232  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

their  work;  never  a  city  so  lamented  and  grieved  over  as 
Chicago.  For  this,  I  do  weep  with  those  who  have  far  great- 
er occasion  to  weep  than  I." 

As  I  have  said  before,  William  B.  Ogden  came  to  Chi- 
cago in  1835,  and  when,  in  1837,  the  growing  town  became 
a  city,  he  was  chosen  to  be  its  first  mayor.  The  panic  of  that 
year  made  the  payment  of  indebtedness  awkward,  to  say 
the  least,  and  a  public  meeting  was  called,  at  which  it  was 
proposed  to  suspend  the  courts  in  order  to  prevent  the  com- 
pulsory payment  of  debt.  By  my  uncle's  influence  and  per- 
sonal appeal  the  scheme  was  overturned.  A  little  later,  he 
worked  with  equal  vigor  and  success  in  preventing  Illinois 
from  repudiating  her  state  debt.  In  this  connection,  it  may  be 
interesting  to  note  that  his  brother-in-law,  Charles  Butler, 
by  his  own  unaided  efforts  before  the  legislatures  of  Mich- 
igan and  Indiana,  likewise  prevented  both  of  those  com- 
monwealths from  following  Mississippi's  unfortunate  lead 
in  this  respect. 

We  have  all  been  brought  up  on  the  theory  that  Chicago 
grew  with  lightning  rapidity;  and  this  is  easy  to  believe 
when  we  realize  the  spirit  of  the  early  days.  Because  the 
City  Fathers  did  not  work  fast  enough  to  satisfy  him, 
William  B.  Ogden,  alone,  caused  to  be  laid  out  and  con- 
structed more  than  one  hundred  miles  of  city  streets  at  his 
own  expense. 

In  1853,  Mr.  Ogden  felt  the  need  of  rest  from  his  many 
activities  and  went  abroad  with  his  sister,  Mrs.  Butler,  and 
her  husband.  They  went  first  to  London  and,  as  it  shows 
how  Chicago  was  honored,  perhaps  a  letter  from  Charles 
Butler  written  at  this  time  may  be  of  interest :  — 


THROUGH  A   CHILD'S  EYES  233 

"We  went  to  the  Lord  Mayor's  dinner  last  evening, 
which  was  a  most  gorgeous  banquet,  and  to  us  green  Amer- 
icans, a  great  novelty.  The  places  assigned  to  us  were  at  the 
head  of  the  table  and  directly  opposite  to  the  Lord  Mayor 
and  his  lady  and  the  cabinet  ministers,  so  that  we  were 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  speakers.  We  met  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, the  Earl  of  Aberdeen,  the  Earl  of  Clarendon,  Lord 
John  Russell,  Lord  Palmerston,  Sir  James  Graham,  the 
Marquis  of  Salisbury,  Mr.  Buchanan,  the  Lord  Chief  Jus- 
tice of  England,  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  the  ex-Lord  Mayor. 
All  were  seated  according  to  rank,  William  B.  Ogden,  as 
ex-Mayor  of  Chicago,  being  placed  among  the  distinguished 
guests  next  below  the  foreign  ministers.  All  the  guests  ap- 
peared in  uniform,  making  a  splendid  spectacle  in  the  finely 
lighted  Guildhall."  l 

Although  rest  was  a  prime  necessity,  there  was  another 
object  of  Mr.  Ogden's  trip,  namely :  the  examination  and 
study  of  the  great  public  works  of  the  older  civilizations. 
Having  been  president  of  the  Chicago  Sewerage  Commis- 
sion, as  well  as  of  the  Chicago  Branch  of  the  State  Board 
of  Sewerage  Commissioners,  he  was  interested  in  the  canals 
of  Holland  and  his  examination  of  them  first  suggested  to 
him  the  practicability  of  the  free  flow  of  the  waters  of  Lake 
Michigan  through  the  Chicago  and  Des  Plaines  rivers  to 
the  Mississippi. 

I  never  hear  this  trip  mentioned  without  a  shudder,  when 
I  recall  how  nearly  none  of  them  ever  came  back.  They  were 
waiting  in  Paris,  preparatory  to  sailing  for  home  in  a  few 
days'  time.  One  morning,  Aunt  Eliza  (Mrs.  Butler),  came 
downstairs  saying  she  had  dreamed  that  the  ship  which 

Life  and  Letters  of  Charles  Butler. 


234  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

they  expected  to  sail  on  had  gone  down  on  the  way  to 
America.  The  next  morning  she  looked  a  little  disturbed 
and  said  she  had  dreamed  the  same  thing  over  again,  and 
the  third  morning  she  begged  the  gentlemen  of  the  party  to 
wait  for  another  boat,  "For," said  she,  "I  not  only  dreamed 
the  same  thing  over  again,  but  I  saw  the  children  and  every 
one  of  us  drowning  in  the  water."  All  this  was  so  foreign  to 
her  usual  calm,  matter-of-fact  nature,  that  they  yielded  to 
her  entreaties,  and  so  escaped  the  lot  of  those  others  who 
sailed  by  the  ill-fated  Arctic,  which  went  down  on  the  next 
westward  trip. 

When  I  cross  Rush  Street  bridge,  I  am  reminded  that 
William  B.  Ogden,  who  had  never  seen  a  swinging  bridge, 
nevertheless,  caused  the  first  one  in  the  city  to  be  built. 
An  interesting  incident  in  connection  with  the  early  days 
of  this  same  bridge  occurs  to  me.  Another  of  my  uncles,  Mr. 
Sheldon,  in  crossing  it  one  morning,  noted  a  heavily -veiled 
woman  walking  before  him.  The  bridge  started  to  open 
and  for  some  reason  this  person  was  thrown  forward,  and, 
but  for  his  quickness  in  coming  to  the  rescue,  would  have 
fallen  into  the  river.  Great  was  his  surprise,  as  he  pulled  her 
up,  to  discover  that  she  was  none  other  than  his  good  friend, 
Mrs.  G.  P.  A.  Healy. 

It  was  at  William  B.  Ogden's  suggestion,  and  on  his  orig- 
inal plan,  that  an  underground  railway  for  the  relief  of  the 
already  congested  traffic  of  New  York  was  considered.  Mr. 
Ogden's  plan  was  being  publicly  discussed  at  the  time  of 
his  death,  and  contained  the  embryo  of  New  York's  com- 
plex subway  system. 

These  samples  are  chosen  at  random  from  among  the 
many  activities  of  Chicago's  first  mayor.  A  dictum  on  his 


THROUGH  A  CHILD'S  EYES  235 

life  and  personality  published  in  the  New  York  Sun,  August 
4,  1877,  speaks  of  him  as  "a  great  spirit,  of  a  well-regulated 
activity,  of  immense  energy,  of  captivating  address  and 
winning  manners.  Mr.  Ogden  has  contributed  more  than 
any  one  man  on  this  continent  to  the  development  of  the 
great  Northwest." 

It  is  a  far  cry  from  rapid  transit  in  congested  New  York 
City,  to  conditions  such  as  those  that  met  my  uncle  when 
he  first  came  to  Chicago,  and  yet,  I  think,  it  may  be  of 
interest  to  revert  to  them.  At  the  time  he  came  West  in 
1835,  there  were  only  five  thousand  people  between  Chicago 
and  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Charles  Butler,  writing  to  his  little 
son,  describes  the  prairie-schooners,  the  fastest  method  of 
progression  in  those  days,  and  tells  the  story  of  the  famous 
Winnebago  Chief  whom  my  uncle,  in  his  wanderings  on  the 
prairie,  had  often  seen :  — 

"Prairie-schooners,  as  they  call  them,  going  into  the  city 
loaded  with  wheat  or  fruit,  come  from  a  great  distance,  some 
of  them  more  than  two  hundred  miles  and  are  long  on  the 
road.  They  call  them  prairie-schooners  because,  with  their 
swelling  canvas  tops,  they  look  like  schooners  coming  over 
the  prairie.  Generally,  they  have  six  or  eight  yoke  of  oxen 
to  draw  the  wagon.  It  is  a  sight  to  see  fifteen  or  twenty  of 
these  great  baggage-wagons  coming  along  together;  they 
look  more  like  a  caravan  of  the  East  than  anything  I  have 
ever  seen." 

There  were  no  roads  on  the  prairies  at  that  time  and  not 
a  house  to  be  seen,  but  this  is  one  of  the  sights  we  might 


236  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

have  chanced  upon  had  our  lot  been  cast  in  those  days  that 
are  no  more.  The  letter  continues :  — 

"Big  Thunder  was  a  famous  Winnebago  Chief  who  lived 
and  died  here  a  few  years  ago  [this  was  in  1842,  in  the 
prairie,  west  of  Chicago],  an  inveterate  enemy  of  the  white 
man  who  kept  plundering  his  countrymen  and  taking  their 
lands  from  them.  He  was  an  Indian  of  great  size  and  a 
noble-looking  fellow.  Just  before  he  died,  he  directed  that 
after  he  was  dead  they  should  place  him  in  a  sitting  posture 
on  the  top  of  a  beautiful  mound  in  a  prairie  overlooking  a 
grove,  with  his  blanket  around  him  and  his  war-club  in  his 
hands,  and  surround  him  with  a  paling,  so  that  with  his 
face  to  the  east  he  could  keep  the  watch.  For,  he  said, 
there  would  be  a  great  battle  fought  on  that  field  between 
the  Indians  and  the  white  men.  The  Indians  would  come 
up  out  of  the  woods  and  the  white  men  over  the  prairie,  and 
he  promised  that  he  would  keep  a  lookout.  If  the  white 
men  should  win,  he  would  remain  forever  silent,  but  if  the 
Indians,  then  he  would  give  a  shout.  They  buried  him  just 
as  he  said,  and  there  Big  Thunder  sits,  with  the  paling 
built  about  him,  with  his  blanket  wrapped  around  him  and 
his  war-club  in  his  hands,  looking  out  upon  the  wood." 

And  there,  other  early  settlers  report  in  letters  to  eastern 
relatives  they  found  him  waiting  the  great  battle.  What 
finally  became  of  his  remains  is  not  recorded  in  the  early 
annals  of  Chicago.  They  vanished  in  the  great  tide  of  Euro- 
pean civilization  which  swept  from  across  the  Atlantic, 
westward  over  this  mighty  land  to  the  waters  of  the  Pacific. 
1  Life  and  Letters  of  Charles  Butler. 


XV 

EARLY  LAKE  FOREST 
BY  MRS.  ROBERT  GREAVES  McGANN 

A  DESCRIPTION  of  the  important  men  who  came  to  Chicago 
in  the  early  days  includes  the  familiar  names  of  nearly  all 
who  lived  in  Lake  Forest.  Brilliant,  individual  pioneers 
they  were  with  large  vision  and  with  the  ability  with  which 
to  realize  their  ideals. 

My  father l  used  to  describe  how  Chicago  looked  to  him 
when  he  came.  It  was  then  a  small  town  of  three  thousand 
inhabitants,  but  I  think  even  he  could  hardly  appreciate 
all  the  changes  that  had  come  in  one  lifetime. 

The  education  we  put  our  children  through  now  may 
bring  a  higher  average  of  cultivation  and  general  intelli- 
gence, but  I  wonder  whether,  in  the  rush  and  scurry  of  our 
lives,  where  everyone  is  trying  to  be  a  little  and  do  a  little 
of  everything,  the  individual  is  not  becoming  less  individ- 
ual, less  rugged,  less  interesting.  Perhaps,  because  we  all 
travel  so  much,  and  are  so  seldom  in  one  place  long  enough 
to  identify  ourselves  with  anything,  we  shirk  responsibilities 
rather  than  assume  them.  How  different  it  was  when  people 
lived  their  lives  the  year  around  in  one  place,  when  one  was 
arrayed,  willing  or  not,  for  or  against  every  subject,  whether 
an  institution  or  the  actions  of  individuals ! 

In  1857,  a  number  of  men,  mostly  members  of  the  Second 

1  The  Hon.  Charles  B.  Farwell,  United  States  Senator  from  Illinois,  1887 
-1891.— Editor. 


238  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Presbyterian  Church,  —  and  I  am  sure  I  need  not  explain 
that  this  was  an  important  center  in  the  social  life  of  the 
Chicago  of  that  day,  —  decided  that  they  would  go  up  on 
the  North  Shore  and  select  a  place  to  live  in  the  country.  A 
special  train  was  chartered  and,  headed  by  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Robert  Patterson,  the  minister  of  the  Second  Church,  this 
large  company  set  forth.  Arrived  at  what  is  now  Lake 
Forest,  they  walked  on  a  deer-path  down  to  the  lake,  and, 
finding  nothing  but  lake  and  forest,  decided  on  its  name. 

Having  selected  it  for  its  beauty,  they  were  clever  enough 
to  have  the  streets  of  Lake  Forest  laid  out  by  Olmsted  & 
Company,  the  most  famous  landscape  gardeners  of  that 
time  in  America.  And,  furthermore,  they  had  in  their  minds 
that  they  wished  to  make,  not  only  beautiful  homes  to  live 
in,  but  a  university  of  the  first  order  for  the  education  of 
their  children. 

Dr.  Charles  H.  Quinlan,  Sylvester  Lind,  Harvey  M. 
Thompson,  Gilbert  Rossiter,  Judge  Mark  Skinner,  Edward 
S.  Isham,  D.  R.  Holt,  Samuel  Dexter  Ward,  and  H.  G. 
Shumway  were  among  these  early  settlers. 

Sylvester  Lind,  a  rich  Scotch  banker,  said  that  he  would 
endow  a  university  if  it  were  named  "Lind  University," 
but,  soon  after,  he  lost  his  fortune,  and  the  university  pro- 
ject was  dropped. 

The  Academy  was  the  first  public  building  of  any  conse- 
quence that  was  built  in  Lake  Forest.  It  stood  where  the  Du- 
rand  Art  Institute  now  is,  only  close  to  the  road,  having  two 
turnstile  gates,  one  leading  up  to  the  school-room  door,  and 
the  other  to  that  part  of  the  structure  where  the  principal 
and  his  family  lived,  on  the  other  side.  The  building  was 
an  imposing  one  for  its  epoch,  being  very  large,  high  and 


EARLY  LAKE  FOREST  239 

white,  with  green  blinds,  and  having  two  cupolas,  one  on 
each  side.  This  is  where  the  boys'  school  started.  Girls  went 
there,  too,  for  a  short  time,  and  in  it  the  Presbyterians  held 
their  church  services  for  three  years. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Baxter  Dickinson  managed  this 
school,  and  a  son  of  theirs  was  the  first  minister  of  the 
church.  Soon  the  Dickinson  daughters  started  a  young 
ladies'  seminary,  and  had  about  twenty  boarders.  The  young 
girls  of  the  very  "nicest"  families  in  Chicago  went  to  it. 
The  Dickinsons  themselves  were  unusually  attractive  and 
cultivated  people,  although  very  prim  according  to  our 
present  standards. 

The  boys  and  girls  of  the  schools  in  those  days  were 
kept  religiously  separated,  never  allowed  to  speak  to  each 
other  in  the  street  and,  even  in  church,  they  sat  on  op- 
posite sides  of  the  aisle.  The  story  goes,  that  young  ladies 
used  often  to  faint  in  front  of  the  Academy  so  they  would 
have  to  be  carried  in  there. 

The  next  group  of  people  who  came  to  Lake  Forest  in- 
cluded Simeon  Williams,  William  S.  Johnston,  and  Robert  I. 
Fabian,  owning  the  I.  P.  Rumsey  place,  Deer-path  Inn,  and 
the  James  Viles  places  respectively.  These  three  families 
were  related  to  each  other  and  had  numerous  and  pictur- 
esque offspring.  They  and  the  H.  G.  Shumways  were  very 
socially  inclined,  and  were  responsible  for  much  gaiety  and 
hospitality.  W.  H.  Ferry,  president  of  the  Northwestern 
Railroad,  the  Carl  Bradleys,  William  S.  Warren,  Amzi 
Benedict,  D.  J.  Lake,  Edwin  J.  Larned,  the  E.  S.  Barnums, 
the  Hotchkiss  family,  Edwin  S.  Skinners,  P.  W.  Pages, 
William  V.  Kays,  the  J.  V.  Farwells  --  all  these  my  family 
found  when  they  came  in  1871. 


240  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

The  picture  I  have  in  my  mind  of  some  of  these  men,  as 
they  came  home  from  their  business  every  night  on  the 
five-o'clock  train,  is  typical.  Their  seats  in  the  parlor-car 
were  always  reserved  for  them,  and  they  sat  in  the  follow- 
ing order:  first,  my  father;  then,  my  uncle,  J.  V.  Far  well; 
then,  D.  R.  Holt,  prosperous  on  account  of  his  large  lumber 
interest;  Simon  S.  Reid,  tall  and  slight,  with  a  pronounced 
Scotch  accent,  dignified,  with  old-fashioned  courtly  man- 
ners ;  Ezra  Warner,  of  the  old  school,  handsome  and  charm- 
ing; William  S.  Warren,  head  of  a  large  insurance  company, 
and  one  of  the  most  interesting  men  in  Lake  Forest;  then, 
Judge  Henry  Blodgett,  an  eminent  lawyer  in  Chicago,  but 
who  lived  at  Waukegan.  All  these  men  seem  to  me  to  be 
much  more  distinguished  than  the  types  we  produce  now. 
A  curious  combination  they  made,  however,  of  busy  men  in 
the  midst  of  the  making  of  a  big  city,  coming  back  each 
day  to  quiet  Lake  Forest  and  their  families,  and  living  as 
simple  a  life  as  could  be  lived  in  any  New  England  village. 

The  early  days  of  Lake  Forest  should  be  written  down 
by  Miss  Wilkins,  with  a  first-hand  New  England  pen,  and 
not  by  one  a  generation  removed.  That  it  should  have  had 
that  particular  flavor  is  not  remarkable,  as  the  heads  of 
every  house  had  so  lately  come  from  New  England  or  other 
eastern  states. 

The  people  who  thus  settled  in  Lake  Forest  within  a  few 
years  of  each  other,  had  many  interests  in  common,  begin- 
ning, of  course,  with  their  families  of  young  children,  all  to 
be  educated. 

The  life  centered  around  the  church,  naturally,  and  every- 
body went  to  the  services  on  Sunday,  and  to  most  of  the 
other  weekly  meetings,  from  Wednesday  evening  prayer- 


EARLY  LAKE  FOREST  241 

meeting  to  the  young  people's  meeting  on  Sunday  night  at 
seven.  Each  family,  from  father  to  the  youngest  child,  took 
some  part,  either  singing  in  the  choir,  teaching  in  Sunday 
School,  praying  or  speaking  in  the  prayer-meetings,  or  read- 
ing a  verse  at  the  young  people's  meetings. 

The  specialties  of  the  various  families  seem  vivid  to  me 
still ;  there  was  one  family,  prominent  in  every  way,  where 
the  son  played  the  organ  violently,  working  the  pedals 
with  his  feet  and  shoulders  as  well,  while  the  daughter 
sang  soprano,  showing  her  fine  row  of  white,  large  teeth, 
and  striking  triumphantly  the  top  note,  never  quite  on  top. 

The  Ward  family  amused  us  all  even  then,  they  were  so 
emotional  and  sentimental;  Samuel  Dexter  Ward  sat  in  the 
pew  on  Sunday,  surrounded  by  Mother,  Lucy,  Ella,  Amy, 
Lilly,  and  Frankie  —  the  last  a  girl  like  the  others,  so  named 
because  they  had  given  up  hoping  for  a  boy.  Mr.  Ward  was  al- 
ways to  be  depended  on  for  the  longest  extemporaneous  pray- 
er, and  he  moved  himself  so  much  that  he  invariably  wept. 
One  Wednesday  night  he  prayed  with  extra  fervor  for  my  cou- 
sin Fannie 1  and  me,  entreating  the  Lord  "  that  his  two  young 
friends  who  were  going  to  Paris  to  school,  might  return  safe- 
ly and  uncontaminated."  And  we  giggled  out  loud!  The 
eldest  daughter,  Lucy,  pale,  blond,  and  ethereal,  married  a 
missionary  and  went  at  once  to  China. 

The  young  people's  meetings  were  conducted  by  a  dif- 
ferent young  man,  from  eighteen  to  twenty  years  old,  each 
Sunday  night.  He  would  start  by  praying,  reading  the  Bible, 
and  then  perhaps  making  wise  remarks.  He  would  call  on 
first  one  and  then  another  to  lead  in  prayer  or  speak;  then, 
if  the  spirit  was  not  moving  them  suflBciently,  spaces  would 
Mrs.  Henry  Tuttle,  daughter  of  John  V.  Farwell. 


242  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

be  filled  by  verses  recited  from  the  Bible.  On  one  occasion, 
Lawrence  Williams,  nervous  and  easily  embarrassed,  was 
asked  to  give  a  text  from  the  Scriptures,  so  he  stood  up  and 
loudly  said,  "While  there  is  life,  there  is  hope." 

Then  there  was  old  Dr.  Nicholas,  a  retired  clergyman, 
"Father  Nicholas,"  they  called  him,  who  used  to  go  to 
sleep  in  church,  and  often  he  would  take  out  his  false  teeth 
and  put  them  in  his  pocket. 

At  the  right  of  the  pulpit,  almost  facing  the  main  aisle 
of  the  church,  in  the  front  pew,  sat  a  man  named  Stripe,  a 
house-painter,  and  his  large  family.  He  was  English,  of  the 
pronounced,  toothy  type,  and  his  wife  was  fat  and  ruddy. 
Of  his  numerous  children,  I  remember  the  names  of  two, 
Violet  Stripe  and  Ida  Centennial  Stripe,  because  she  was 
born  in  1876. 

At  Christmas  time,  all  sorts  of  ideas  were  used  to  amuse 
the  children.  Mrs.  S.  S.  Reid  (who  managed  all  these  affairs) 
on  one  occasion  decided  to  have  The  Old  Woman  who  Lived 
in  a  Shoe.  A  mammoth  shoe  was  built  where  the  pulpit 
usually  was,  and  dozens  of  children  burst  out  of  the  top  or 
poked  their  heads  out  of  holes  in  the  toe. 

Other  years,  a  Christmas  tree  was  the  center  of  festivities 
and  the  children  were  expected  to  come  to  the  church  and 
help  trim  it.  We  strung  pop-corn  and  cranberries,  and  put 
green  and  blue  candy  in  tarlatan  bags  made  in  the  shape  of 
stockings.  On  Christmas  Eve,  five  of  us  stood  in  a  row, 
with  arms  stretched  high  over  our  heads,  each  holding  a 
large  letter,  spelling  "P-E-A-C-E."  Each  child  recited  a 
verse  beginning  with  her  letter.  All  went  well  until  it  came 
to  me,  but  looking  at  the  church  filled  with  all  the  familiar 
faces  was  too  much.  I  could  not  remember  a  word,  and  sat 


EARLY  LAKE  FOREST  243 

ignominiously  down,  thus  early  forming  my  own  particular 
view  about  doing  anything  in  public. 

The  little  white,  wooden  church,  with  its  tall,  thin  steeple, 
stood  where  the  Presbyterian  Church  is  now,  and  was 
moved  away  to  make  room  for  the  present  building.  The  new 
church  was  built  out  of  the  original  stones  of  which  the 
famous  Second  Church  had  been  made  before  the  Fire. 

Dancing  in  that  era  was  looked  upon  as  the  last  form  of 
wickedness,  —  Mr.  Holt  said  he  would  rather  see  all  his 
children  in  their  coffins  than  to  see  them  dancing.  Mr.  Holt 
also  rebuked  Mr.  Warner  for  allowing  his  daughter  to  be 
overdressed;  he  had  noticed  her  one  morning  on  the  station 
platform  in  a  dress  made  of  silk.  Incidentally,  the  dress 
had  been  made  from  an  old  one  of  her  mother's,  but  even 
that  did  not  condone  its  crime  against  Puritanism. 

Mr.  Holt  also  belonged  to  the  session  of  the  church  when 
they  summoned  Carrie  Benedict,  Allie  Smith,  and  my  sister 
Anna l  to  rebuke  them  for  undue  levity  with  Academy  boys. 
These  men  likewise  insisted  that  a  small  dancing-class  for 
little  children,  which  had  been  organized,  should  be  aban- 
doned. Tempora  mutantur  et  nos  mutamur  in  illis! 

All  the  boys  in  the  village  attended  the  Academy,  until 
one  Saturday  when  two  boys,  named  Charlie  Dole  and 
Edward  Pritchet,  decided  they  had  had  enough  school,  and, 
having  made  careful  preparations  by  soaking  the  floors 
with  kerosene,  they  set  a  match  to  the  building  and  burned 
it  all  up. 

The  Seminary,  Ferry  Hall,  was  started  later  by  Senator 
Ferry  of  Michigan,  a  brother  of  W.  H.  Ferry,  and  has  been, 
from  the  beginning  to  this  day,  a  prosperous  school. 

1  Mrs.  Reginald  de  Koven,  of  New  York,  the  well-known  writer. 


244  CHICAGO   YESTERDAYS 

There  had  never  been  a  college  until  my  mother  decided 
she  would  like  to  have  one  (a  coeducational  one  at  that)  so 
that  my  sister  Anna  could  have  a  college  education  without 
leaving  home.  She  then  set  forth,  first  to  convince  the 
people  in  Lake  Forest  that  they  wanted  one,  and  then  to 
procure  scholars,  for  there  were  none. 

Miss  Annie  Williams  tells  me  that  in  asking  her  family 
for  their  support,  she  told  them  how  nice  it  would  be  for 
the  three  young  women  in  the  family  to  have  so  many  young 
men  in  town.  Miss  Williams  says  she  mentioned  that  she 
thought  they  would  be  rather  too  young  to  be  interesting, 
so  my  mother  quickly  said,  "Oh,  but  think  of  the  pro- 
fessors!" 

For  the  scholars  she  went  to  Chicago,  and  there  in  some 
high-school  she  found  young  men  and  women  who  were 
willing  to  have  it  done  to  them,  incidentally  to  be  paid  for, 
and  brought  them  to  Lake  Forest. 

The  effect  of  this  innovation  was  almost  as  a  southern 
feud;  those  who  were  in  favor  of  the  college  and  those 
against  it  were  drawn  up  in  battle  array. 

The  college  started  in  the  hotel  which  long  ago  was  very 
fashionable,  and  stood  where  the  tree-shaded  village  park 
now  is.  That  building  also  was  set  on  fire,  though  accident- 
ally this  time,  and  burned  to  the  ground.  When  the  hotel 
was  first  built  it  was  a  popular  hostelry.  The  MacGregor 
Adamses,  Kings,  Franklin  Spencers,  Arthur  Catons,  Augus- 
tus Eddys,  Charles  Townes,  Henry  Tuttles,  Joseph  Medills, 
Wrights,  Eugene  Pikes,  Perry  Trumbulls,  T.  W.  Harveys,  A. 
C.  Badgers,  T.  T.  Shreves,  R.  L.  Henrys,  James  H.  Taylors, 
and  others,  used  to  spend  their  summers  there.  Such  bache- 
lors as  Scott  Keith,  Huntington  Jackson,  Archie  Fisher  and 


EARLY  LAKE  FOREST  245 

Wayne  Chatfield  also  frequented  it.  There  were  hops  every 
Saturday  night,  and  much  gaiety. 

The  opening  of  the  schools  in  autumn  was  always  the 
occasion  for  the  greatest  excitement  among  the  young 
people.  We  were  occupied  with  deciding  which  of  the  boys 
looked  the  most  attractive  and  needed  to  be  selected,  or 
which  girl  we  would  choose  for  a  dearest  friend. 

The  concerts  in  the  middle  and  at  the  end  of  the  school 
year  were  the  most  important  events  of  all.  Then  our  long- 
suffering  hair,  braided  in  infinitesimal  braids  for  days  in 
advance,  was  finally  liberated.  Tied  with  a  bow  on  the  top 
of  the  head,  it  floated  in  crinkly  blond  or  dark  wavesmlown 
our  backs.  We  were  proud  when,  in  the  final  year  of  our 
musical  education,  we  played  duets,  the  master  playing  on 
one  piano  and  we  on  another.  We  realized  fully  the  impor- 
tance of  having  young  ladies  trained  early  to  play  upon  the 
pianoforte. 

Before  my  family  built  their  house  in  Lake  Forest,  they 
used  often  to  go  there  for  the  summer,  when  they  occupied 
a  house  owned  by  Mr.  Lind,  the  Scotchman.  This  stood 
where  the  Kent  Clow  residence  now  is. 

My  mother  has  often  told  me  that  there  was  nothing  at 
that  time  between  that  house  and  the  lake,  and  that  she 
used  to  walk  on  a  deer-path  through  the  woods  to  what  was 
called  Clark's  Ravine  —  the  ravine  between  the  Poole's  and 
McLennan's  —  owned  by  the  Pages  and  Kays.  The  clear, 
delicious  spring  on  the  Pages'  side  was  always  a  delightful 
objective  point. 

The  only  houses  that  are  just  as  they  were  in  my  earliest 
recollections,  are :  J.  P.  Rumsey's  belonging  to  the  Simeon 
Williamses;  the  D.  R.  Holt  place  and  garden;  the  Burns,' 


246  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

which  used  to  be  the  David  J.  Lakes';  and  the  J.  V.  Far- 
well  house  and  grounds.  I  cannot  think  of  any  other  place 
that  has  not  been  in  some  way  altered. 

The  greatest  change  in  the  looks  of  Lake  Forest  was  per- 
haps made  in  taking  down  the  fences.  My  mother,  who  was 
president  of  the  Village  Improvement  Society  at  that  time, 
was,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  responsible  for  it.  She  said  she 
thought  it  would  be  nice  to  have  it  look  more  like  a  park, 
so  the  cows  which  had  always  roamed  in  the  streets,  each 
with  bell  attached,  were  herded  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
and  each  owner  was  obliged  to  care  for  his  hitherto 
unkempt  roadsides. 

Up  to  that  time,  white  picket-fences  were  the  most  pop-  * 
ular  barrier,  but  there  was  an  occasional  one,  like  that  still 
standing  around  the  Spragues'  old  place,  or  the  delightful 
one  around  the  J.  V.  Farwells',  which  had  no  pickets  and, 
if  one  ran  it  fast  enough,  by  placing  one  foot  neatly  on  the 
middle  bar,  and  the  other  on  the  top,  it  could  be  cleared 
very  easily. 

The  gates  showed  some  taste  as  well.  Some  were  "  Cleve- 
land" gates,  to  open  and  shut  which  one  drove  the  carriage 
over  an  iron  wicket,  before  and  after  entering;  a  most  fas- 
cinating contrivance !  Sometimes  a  handle  hung  up  high  on 
the  right-hand  side,  which  was  pulled  down  and  started  the 
necessary  mechanism. 

Over  the  Bradleys*  gate  was  a  lovely  arch  on  which  was 
proudly  placed  in  rustic  letters,  CARLSRUHE.  Mr. 
Bradley 's  name  was  Carl. 

The  village  street  was  a  very  different  sight  from  what 
one  sees  there  now  on  a  summer  afternoon,  when  the  row 
of  motors  extends  from  end  to  end  of  the  long  block.  Then, 


EARLY  LAKE  FOREST  247 

the  railway  station,  a  little  wooden  building,  stood  alone 
on  one  side  of  the  broad  village  main-street,  and  on  the  other, 
Taylor's  meat-market.  (The  Arthur  Aldis'  present  house  was 
where  he  and  his  family  used  to  live.)  The  Anderson  store,  a 
small  frame  house,  the  post  office,  another  grocery,  Pratt 's, 
then  O'Neill's  hardware  store,  completed  Lake  Forest's 
facade. 

The  only  livery  carriage  was  owned  by  an  old  colored 
man  named  Samuel  Dent,  an  escaped  slave.  He  met  all 
the  trains,  and  I  can  hear  him  now,  as  we  sat  on  the 
porch,  telling  the  casual  visitors  whom  he  drove  about  the 
town,  all  the  details  of  our  houses  and  our  persons,  when 
passing  our  homes.  His  manners  were  informal.  Sometimes 
when  he  was  engaged  to  drive  people  to  or  from  evening 
parties,  on  arrival  he  would  whistle,  and  if  his  fares  did  not 
come  at  once,  he  would  drive  away.  He  is  buried  in  the 
cemetery  by  the  lake,  and  over  his  grave  is  a  large  tomb- 
stone, bought  by  his  many  friends. 

There  were  not  many  social  distinctions  in  this  artless 
community,  and  if  anyone  was  very  poor  or  very  rich  there 
were  few  evidences  of  either.  The  houses  were  all  managed 
in  the  same  simple  manner;  we  knew  the  names  of  all  the 
old  family  servants  in  every  home,  and  they  were  just  as 
much  our  friends  as  were  the  family.  The  names  of  the 
horses  and  dogs  were  equally  familiar,  and  the  coachman's, 
too,  who  invariably  milked  the  cow. 

I  remember  well  the  sad  day  when  the  first  family  came 
to  "spend  the  summer,"  precursors  of  the  present  hordes. 
Also  I  recall  when  livery  first  appeared  upon  the  individual 
who  took  the  place  of  our  well-beloved  "hired  man." 

What  distinctions  existed  were  of  a  subtle  order;  the 


248  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

tradespeople  all  lived  "across  the  track"  and,  although  their 
children  went  to  the  same  schools  as  we  and  we  were  with 
them  every  morning,  they  did  not  come  to  skate  on  our  pond 
in  the  afternoon,  and  we  did  not  often  go  to  see  them  in  their 
homes.  I  used  to  ask  my  mother  why  she  did  not  have  a 
sewing-machine  in  the  dining-room,  and  a  dish  of  rosy 
apples  always  there  on  the  table  to  eat,  as  I  used  to  find  in 
the  houses  of  some  of  my  friends,  but  I  never  had  a  satis- 
factory answer. 

And  now  when  I  call  up  O'Neill's  on  the  telephone  and 
tell  them  who  I  am,  the  answer  is,  "Yes,  this  is  Jo"  or 
"Will,"  and  I  ask  how  Grace  his  wife  is,  who  was  named 
after  me  because  her  mother  did  the  washing  at  our  house 
at  the  time ;  and  when  I  see  them,  I  tell  them  how  like  their 
father  they  are  growing  to  be.  So  there  are  a  few,  but  very 
few,  reminders  of  the  sweet,  old  days. 

The  social  life  had  its  main  expression  in  the  diversions 
of  the  Entre  Nous  Club.  These  included  serious  essays  by 
the  older  members.  William  Henry  Smith,  for  instance, 
was  a  shining  light.  There  were  also  musicals,  Dickens 
parties,  when  perhaps  the  children  were  allowed  to  come, 
or  original  plays  written  by  brilliant  Effie  Neef.  One  of 
these  was  long  remembered.  She  called  it,  Gentlemen,  We 
Can  Do  Without  You,  and  after  the  actresses  had  involved 
themselves  in  every  sort  of  complications,  she  ended  it  by 
saying,  "You  see,  Gentlemen,  we  cannot  do  without  you." 

This  troupe  included  Mrs.  William  Henry  Smith,  who 
was  the  star;  Mrs.  A.  F.  Ferry,1  young  and  very  beautiful; 
George  Holt,  Will  Fabian,  Walter  Neef,  Effie  Neef,  and 
Nellie  Warren. 

1  J.  V.  FarwelTs  only  child  by  his  first  wife. 


EARLY  LAKE  FOREST  249 

William  Henry  Smith's *  house,  next  door  to  ours,  was  a 
unique  place.  As  manager  of  the  Associated  Press,  he  was 
in  the  midst  of  National  politics  for  many  years,  and  the 
important  man  of  the  hour  was  sure  to  be  a  visitor  there. 
I  recall  seeing  in  Lake  Forest  celebrities  like  Whitelaw  Reid, 
General  Philip  Sheridan,  William  Walter  Phelps,  President 
Hayes,  Senator  Allison,  Senator  Ingalls,  General  and  Mrs. 
Logan,  and  Robert  Ingersoll.  Whether  these  men  had  their 
interesting  talks  on  my  father's  piazza  or  on  Mr.  Smith's, 
it  is  sometimes  hard  to  remember. 

When  the  wonderful  reception  for  President  and  Mrs. 
Hayes  was  planned,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith  were  with  the 
Presidential  excursion  in  the  West.  Mrs.  Smith  wrote 
home  that  she  wished  a  party  arranged.  The  neighbors  did 
it  for  her,  and  she  walked  in  with  the  other  guests,  having 
had  no  worry  on  the  subject  whatever. 

Some  of  the  oldest  houses  were  built  originally  by  men 
who  later  left  Lake  Forest,  and  were  no  longer  associated 
with  it.  The  old  Warner  place,  for  instance,  was  put  up 
by  William  Blair,  Edward  Blair's  father.  He  had  at  that 
time  two  sons  and,  while  the  house  was  under  construction, 
one  of  these  sons  died.  The  Blairs  were  so  unhappy  about 
it  that  they  decided  they  would  not  live  there,  and  sold  it 
to  S.  B.  Williams.  He  it  was  who  cut  down  the  thick 
woods  and  made  the  sloping  lawn  of  which  he  was  ex- 
tremely proud. 

Dr.  Charles  Quinlan  soon  after  built  a  large  brick  house 
(now  the  Rumseys'),  but  found  he  had  spent  more  on  it 
than  he  had  intended,  so  this  was  also  sold  to  S.  B.  Williams, 
who  moved  there  and  lived  in  it  for  many  years.  The  Ezra 

1  Father  of  Delavan  Smith. 


250  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Warners  then  bought  tHe  frame  house  built  by  William 
Blair,  and  came  to  Lake  Forest  in  1873. 

Deer-path  Inn  was  originally  in  the  middle  of  the  block, 
and  William  Johnston,  when  he  bought  the  property,  moved 
the  market  which  he  found  there,  across  the  track,  making 
then  that  dividing  line  between  residences  and  the  trades- 
people which  remained  for  so  many  years. 

Harvey  Thompson's  house  was  the  show-place  for  a  very 
long  time.  It  was  directly  across  the  street  from  the  church. 
He  had  greenhouses  and  a  large  art -gallery,  filled  with 
really  important  pictures,  and  the  ravine  was  all  neatly 
smoothed  and  terraced  to  the  bottom.  At  the  ends  of  walks 
or  vistas  were  iron  benches  or  marble  statues.  The  only 
thing  that  now  recalls  this  early  luxury  is  an  occasional 
iron  deer  or  vase  on  the  lawn.  After  him,  Alexander  White 
owned  this  show-place,  and  then,  many  years  later,  Joseph 
Durand,  and  now  the  George  Fishers. 

The  Gilbert  Rossiter  house,  only  lately  moved  away, 
stands  out  in  one's  recollection.  Here  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nor- 
man B.  Judd  (the  latter  Mr.  Rossiter's  sister)  used  often 
to  be  guests.  Mr.  Judd  was  very  important  in  Illinois  pol- 
itics, and  was  sent  as  Minister  to  Germany  by  Lincoln. 
Mrs.  Judd  was  one  of  the  most  cultivated  people  I  have 
ever  known.  When  she  visited  my  mother  a  few  years  ago, 
she,  Mrs.  Judd,  who  was  then  more  than  eighty  years  old, 
used  to  read  aloud  in  German  every  day  so  that  she  should 
not  lose  her  accent;  and  so  human  was  she  in  her  sympathies, 
she  used  to  say  to  my  sister  and  me,  "Please  do  not  talk 
while  I  am  out  of  the  room,  because  I  am  afraid  I  may  miss 
something." 

H.  G.  Shumway,  the  first  mayor  of  Lake  Forest,  built  the 


EARLY  LAKE  FOREST  251 

old  house  on  the  property  where  the  Finley  Barrells  now 
live,  but  soon  sold  it  to  William  S.  Warren.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Warren  were  a  most  distinguished  couple  of  the  old  school, 
dignified  and  graceful  in  manners.  Mrs.  Warren  had  a  very 
marked  literary  gift,  as  I  recall  it,  and  wrote  essays  and  pa- 
pers on  all  occasions.  Her  daughter,  Nellie  Warren, x  is  the 
one  whose  name  occurs  so  often  in  the  newspaper  accounts 
of  that  day.  Very  beautiful  and  witty  and  gifted  musically, 
she  was  perhaps  the  most  attractive  of  any  of  the  young 
women. 

The  little  cottage,  next  but  one  to  the  churcj^,  was  built 
by  General  Webster,  then  owned  by  the  Neefs,  and  then 
the  Nathaniel  Sawyers,  who  lived  in  it  many  yefrs. 

The  Neef  family  had  a  very  distinct  character.  Mrs.  Neef 
was  Mrs.  R.  W.  Patterson's  sister,  and  the  family  consisted 
of  a  son  and  two  daughters.  The  girls  were  sent  to  Paris  to 
school  when  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  and  I  think  of  them  all 
as  the  gayest  and  wittiest  people  who  ever  lived  in  Lake 
Forest. 

The  two  most  important  entertainments  that  I  remem- 
ber hearing  about  were  Miss  Clarine  Williams'  wedding  to 
Mr.  M.  L.  Scudder  in  1873,  and  when  William  Henry  Smith 
entertained  President  Hayes. 

For  the  former,  a  special  train  brought  the  guests  from 
Chicago  at  noon,  and  they  stayed  until  six.  General 
Sheridan,  an  intimate  friend  of  the  family,  arranged  to 
have  his  military  band  play  all  the  afternoon.  After  the 
ceremony  in  the  house,  it  really  was  a  lawn  f6te  as  well 
as  a  wedding.  ^ 

1  She  married  a  Frenchman,  M.  Moreau,  and  was  accidentally  burned  to 
death  in  her  Paris  home. 


252  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

The  Smith  reception  for  President  and  Mrs.  Hayes  was 
described  at  length  in  the  Chicago  Tribune  as  follows :  — 

"The  reception  on  Thursday  evening  at  the  residence  of 
William  Henry  Smith  at  Lake  Forest  was  one  of  the  most 
complete  affairs  of  the  entire  Presidential  trip.  It  was  the 
subject  of  frequent  remark  that  the  proportion,  not  only  of 
well-dressed,  but  positively  handsome  ladies  was  much 
greater  than  is  usually  seen  on  similar  occasions.  And  then, 
the  reception  being  a  general  one  to  the  citizens  of  Lake 
Forest,  and  there  being  but  few  guests  from  abroad,  the 
occasion  partook  more  of  the  nature  of  a  social  party  than 
a  state  affair.  Add  to  this  a  fine  brass-band,  playing  at  inter- 
vals on  the  lawn,  a  quartet  from  the  city  composed  of 
Messrs.  Sabin,  Sprague,  Barnes,  and  Powers,  elaborate 
floral  decorations  and  a  roomy  and  handsome  mansion 
entirely  at  the  disposal  of  the  company,  but  little  more 
can  be  required. 

"Among  the  floral  contributions  was  a  large  rosette  with 
a  border  of  white  lilies  and  heliotropes  with  a  center  of 
tuberoses  and  "Welcome"  in  small  blue  everlasting  flowers. 
It  was  the  gift  of  the  employees  of  the  Custom  House. 
Mrs.  Henry  Durand  presented  an  American  flag  skillfully 
wrought  in  flowers. 

"Mrs.  Hayes  was  most  becomingly  attired  in  a  gray  silk 
skirt  with  brocaded  overdress,  relieved  in  blue  and  shell 
trimmings. 

"Mrs.  William  Henry  Smith  wore  a  heavy  black  gros- 
grain  with  point-lace  trimmings.  Miss  Abbie  Smith  blushed 
in  pink  brocaded  silk,  relieved  with  black  velvet,  and  Mrs. 
J.  N.  Jewett  wore  an  ecru  silk  and  velvet  mixed.' 


EARLY  LAKE   FOREST  253 

I  am  conscious  that  my  recollections  of  those  days  must 
be  those  of  a  child,  but  I  have  found  some  articles  published 
in  various  newspapers  that  describe  them  at  short  range. 
The  following  is  from  a  Chicago  paper,  June,  1878,  under 
Suburban  News :  — 

"Lake  Forest  — 

'  The  past  week  has  been  one  grand  whirl  of  dissipation,' 
remarked  a  Lake  Forest  belle  to  a  companion, '  and  it  seems 
really  as  if  this  pleasant  village  were  determined  to  equal 
Newport." 

An  elaborate  description  follows  of  private  theatricals  at 
Miss  Johnston's;  impromptu  charade  party  at  Mrs.  Smith's, 
under  the  supervision  of  Effie  Neef ;  Tuesday,  a  concert  at 
the  Seminary,  and  Wednesday  evening  the  graduating  exer- 
cises; Thursday,  a  party  at  Miss  Williams',  then  a  recep- 
tion for  Mrs.  Sabin  in  the  Academy;  the  next  day,  graduat- 
ing exercises  of  the  Academy  and  University;  then  a  lawn 
fete  given  by  Miss  Nellie  Warren  and  a  "German"  by  Miss 
Johnston  the  same  evening. 

From  a  later  newspaper  account  of  May,  1880:  - 

"Lake  Forest  has  put  on  her  Spring  beauty,  and  her 
woods  and  ravines  are  lovely  indeed.  The  weather  has  been 
such  as  to  suggest  picnics  and  lawn  parties,  but  though  we 
have  had  none  of  these  as  yet,  still,  other  social  events  have 
not  been  entirely  wanting.  That  they  have  been  few  we  will 
admit,  in  face  of  the  fact  that  the  only  entertainment  that 
could  be  offered  a  young  lady  visitor  during  a  stay  of  a 
week  and  a  half,  was  four  prayer-meetings,  three  mission- 


254  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

ary  meetings  and  two  church  services.  Let  no  one  call  Lake 
Forest  gay. 

"However,  the  affair  of  the  season  was  the  elegant  party 
given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  E.  S.  Warner  on  the  evening  of 
April  15.  Their  beautiful  house,  which  has  recently  been  en- 
tirely rebuilt,  was  thrown  open,  and  the  handsome,  well- 
arranged  rooms  were  the  source  of  much  admiration  and 
comment.  The  supper  was  furnished  by  Kinsley  and  the 
music  by  a  superior  orchestra.  Over  a  hundred  invitations 
were  extended  and  were  generally  accepted,  many  being 
present  from  Chicago,  notably  Mr.  Walter  Neef  and  bride. l 

"The  company  was  given  as  a  farewell  to  Mrs.  Neef,  who 
sails  for  England  next  month  to  be  present  at  the  wedding 
of  her  daughter,  Miss  Effie  Neef,  to  an  English  naval  officer. 

"To  this  young  lady  is  due  in  great  measure  the  credit 
of  raising  the  subscription  by  means  of  which  our  church 
bell  was  obtained  and  put  in  position;  and  we  understand 
the  bell  will  be  rung  long  and  merrily  on  her  wedding-day, 
aflti  could  its  tones  be  heard  in  England,  they  would  doubt- 
less convey  to  her  the  hearty  good-wishes  of  her  many 
friends  here." 

From  the  Lake  Forest  Reporter  of  August  1,  1872:  — 

"  'Beautiful  for  situation  on  the  sides  of  the  North/  was 
the  comprehensive  language  of  the  prophet  in  describing 
the  position  of  his  beloved  and  holy  city.  Our  readers  must 
pardon  us  if  we  find  ourselves  uttering  these  words,  'beau- 
tiful for  situation,'  as  we  walk  around  about  our  city  of 
Lake  Forest,  on  the  sides  of  our  glorious  North. 

1  Miss  Annie  Douglas,  a  daughter  of  John  M.  Douglas,  a  prominent 
Chicago  lawyer. 


EARLY  LAKE  FOREST  255 

"Elevated  more  than  a  hundred  feet  above  water-level, 
with  a  bold,  clean  shore,  where  no  miasma  can  find  a  lurk- 
ing place;  crossed  in  many  directions  by  deep,  wooded  ra- 
vines which  wind  their  way  to  the  lake  and  perfectly 
drain  the  whole  territory,  while  they  outline  the  lots  and 
give  direction  to  the  streets;  covered  with  an  original  forest 
of  oak,  hickory,  and  other  deciduous  trees,  now  reduced  in 
many  places  to  cultivated  parks,  while  enough  remains  to 
remind  us  of  the  country  which  God  made;  laid  out  in 
generous  lots,  so  that  every  man's  home  is  ample,  fresh  and 
airy,  while  as  a  rule  the  dwellings  themselves  correspond  in 
style  to  the  place  which  they  occupy;  —  we  know  of  noth- 
ing which  our  city  lacks  to  deserve  the  encomium  so  often 
bestowed  upon  it,  as  'by  far  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the 
suburbs  of  Chicago." 

What  I  have  perhaps  not  quite  expressed,  was  the  real 
intimacy  that  existed  among  all  the  families  in  Lake  Forest ; 
they  were  much  more  like  one  family  than  it  would  be  pos- 
sible to  describe.  There  was  only  one  church,  and  no  one 
ever  spoke  of  wanting  any  other. 

When  Charlie  and  George  Holt  went  around  the  world, 
the  letters  they  wrote  were  passed  about  from  house  to 
house.  When  Mr.  Warner  found  that  they  had  an  extra  crop 
of  raspberries  or  currants,  he  would  mention  it  at  the  sta- 
tion in  the  morning,  and  any  Lake  Forester  could  go  and 
pick  all  he  or  she  wanted. 

There  were  no  diversities  of  interest;  there  was  no  social 
climbing,  perhaps  because,  as  one  old  settler  says,  all 
the  original  settlers  were  confident  that  Lake  Forest  was 
far  superior  to  Highland  Park  or  Evanston,  or  any  of  the 


256  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

other  towns  along  the  road.  It  is  hard  for  the  original  Lake 
Forester  not  to  be  prejudiced  even  now.  Perhaps  the  opinion 
was  even  universal,  for  Mr.  Benedict  told  us  that  he  asked 
a  friend  who  lived  in  Highland  Park  why  he  did  not  move 
to  Lake  Forest,  and  he  replied,  "Not  for  me,  it  is  too  d — n 
pious  and  too  d — n  aristocratic!" 

When  a  cousin  of  mine,  last  summer,  heard  that  the 
streets  were  being  renamed,  she  said  with  intense  indigna- 
tion, "How  absurd  that  new-comers  like  this  should  have 
anything  to  do  with  such  a  thing!"  The  chairman  of  the 
name-changing  committee,  poor  dear,  had  only  lived  in 
Lake  Forest  twenty -two  years ! 

A  later  resident  told  me  that  she  knew  that  Lake  Forest 
only  began  to  be  fashionable  at  about  the  time  she  went 
there  to  live,  when  the  Onwentsia  Club  was  started.  How 
little  she  knew  that  we  who  had  grown  up  there  felt  per- 
fectly sure  that  the  knell  of  dear,  delightful,  distinguished, 
exclusive  Lake  Forest  was  at  that  moment  sounded ! 


XVI 

FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR 
BY  VARIOUS  PEOPLE 

A  FLAMING  wall  between  one  epoch  and  its  successor,  a 
barrier  without  its  equal  in  any  other  community,  was  the 
great  Chicago  Fire  of  October,  1871.  A  city  chiefly  built  of 
wood  was  lost  in  that  holocaust;  a  city  of  brick  and  stone 
rose  from  the  ashes.  A  simple-hearted,  church-going,  pro- 
vincial people  fled  before  the  flames.  There  was  something 
in  the  fiery  ordeal  that  tempered  the  metal  of  their  souls  so 
that  they  came  out  of  it  more  ambitious,  self-reliant,  and 
optimistic  than  ever.  The  Sunday  after  the  Fire,  the  Rever- 
end Robert  Collyer,  the  celebrated  Unitarian  preacher,  held 
service  in  the  still  smoking  ruins  of  Unity  Church  on  the 
corner  of  Dearborn  Avenue  and  Walton  Place,  when  plans 
for  rebuilding  the  church  immediately  were  formed.  I  think  it 
was  the  late  William  D.  Kerfoot  who,  on  the  site  of  his  down- 
town office,  the  day  after  the  Fire,  set  up  a  sign  reading:  - 
"All  is  lost  save  wife,  children,  and  credit." 
With  such  a  spirit  the  new  Chicago  rose  swiftly  from  the 
smoking  debris  of  the  old  Chicago.  When  a  catastrophe  like 
the  Fire  hits  so  many  thousands  it  ceases  to  be  an  unbearable 
affliction  to  the  individual.  It  even  becomes  a  matter  for 
jesting  and  a  stimulus  to  better  effort.  Help  poured  in  from 
all  over  the  world.  Thomas  Hughes,  of  England,  collected  a 
library  of  300  volumes  for  Chicago,  to  which  Queen  Victoria 
contributed  many  books,  and  which  was  the  nucleus  for 


258  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

our  present  Public  Library,  an  institution  that,  to-day,  is 
said  to  serve  a  larger  public  than  any  other  similar  enter- 
prise, except  the  British  Museum. 

Vast  quantities  of  clothing  and  food  from  all  over  the 
country  were  sent  here  and  distributed.  As  cheerfully  as 
coral  insects  in  the  South  Seas  start  anew  after  a  storm,  the 
inhabitants  of  the  ruined  city  began  rebuilding  homes  and 
business  quarters  before  the  ashes  had  cooled. 

The  Fire  had  put  Chicago  on  the  map,  and  the  new  metro- 
polis no  longer  suggested  the  large,  sprawling,  over-grown 
village  that  had,  before  October  9,  1871,  earned  itself  the 
sobriquet,  "Garden  City."  Brick  and  stone  took  the  place 
of  wood  in  the  rebuilding  of  homes ;  nor  was  this  second  crop 
of  residences  set  in  big  gardens  as  before. 

About  this  time  there  crept  a  hitherto  unknown  factor  in 
interior  furnishings,  —  a  terrible  something  called  "Art." 
The  Centennial  Exposition  at  Philadelphia,  in  1876,  gave 
this  a  fatal  impetus.  "Eastlake,"  with  its  ebonized,  flimsy 
furniture,  its  fragile  gilt  chairs,  became  the  fad.  A  little  la- 
ter William  Morris  darkened  and  blighted  our  homes  by 
inspiring  brown  and  green  wall-papers,  adorned  with  geo- 
metric figures,  and  put  on  in  fearsome,  longitudinal  sections 
called  respectively  dadoes,  picture-screens,  and  friezes.  Also 
there  were  such  diseased  moments  in  the  search  for  the  new 
and  original  when  gilt  milking-stools  and  chopping-bowls 
adorned  drawing-rooms;  when  bunches  of  dried  cat-tails 
stood  in  up-ended  sewer-tilings  in  the  most  elegant  houses; 
when  chair-legs  were  gartered  with  big  ribbon  bows;  when 
cheese-cloth  was  considered  chic  stuff  for  drawing-room 
curtains ;  when  not  to  have  a  spinning-wheel  by  the  fire- 
place was  to  proclaim  yourself  a  parvenu. 


FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR  259 

At  the  same  time,  however,  society  was  really  taking 
form  and  shape.  Ladies'  luncheons,  and  formal  dinner  par- 
ties (at  which  the  hour  was  set  as  late  as  seven  o'clock)  be- 
came popular  forms  of  entertainment.  The  "hired  girl" 
became  "the  maid."  She  was  induced  to  wear  long  white 
aprons,  white  collars  and  cuffs,  and  to  permit  a  frilled  cap 
to  be  perched  upon  her  head.  A  few  people  even  had  butlers, 
though  I  think  these  were  usually  drawn  from  the  colored 
race.  I  remember,  however,  that  Mrs.  W.  W.  K.  Nixon, 
then  living  at  No.  156  Rush  Street,  had  a  white  butler, 
one  Edward,  who  was  the  pride  of  the  neighborhood. 

Immediately  after  the  Fire,  the  north-side  young  men  of 
that  time  started  a  dancing-class,  appropriately  called,  "The 
Cinders,"  which  was  for  ten  or  fifteen  years  the  chief  social 
event  of  the  north-side  young  and  gay  set.  Prominent  in  it 
were  the  Messrs.  Cyrus  Adams,  George  Rumsey,  Milton 
Leightner,  Bryan  Lathrop,  James  Kelly,  Clarence  Burley, 
Joseph  Adams,  Mahlon  Ogden  Jones,  E.  B.  Sheldon,  Wal- 
ter and  Edward  Wyman,  John  T.  Noyes,  Samuel  Wheeler, 
Robert  H.  McCormick,  Arthur  Ryerson,  and  James  Nor- 
ton. Among  the  young  women  who  waltzed  and  polka'd  with 
these  gay  young  beaux  were  the  Misses  Rumsey,  the  Misses 
Kelly,  the  Misses  Badger,  Miss  Fay  Calhoun,  Miss  Lillie 
Winston,  Miss  Annie  Douglas,  and  Miss  Florence  Arnold. 

The  affairs  were  gotten  up  and  entirely  financed  by  the 
young  men.  Coffee,  lemonade,  cake  and  sandwiches  were 
the  only  refreshments  at  first.  Later,  sherbet  and  salad  were 
added.  They  were  held  at  Martine's  Dance  Academy  on 
East  Chicago  Avenue,  and  were  friendly,  informal,  simple 
affairs,  though  there  were  folks  at  that  time  who  looked 
askance  at  them.  The  daughter  of  one  of  Chicago's  oldest, 


260  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

most  eminent  families  was  taken  to  a  Cinder  dance  one  even- 
ing and,  when  asked  what  she  thought  of  it,  said:  "There 
seemed  a  lack  of  home  influence  there." 

That  expression,  "a  lack  of  home  influence,"  became  a 
household  phrase  in  a  family  closely  connected  with  the 
writer.  It's  a  most  useful  phrase  to  describe  almost  any  kind 
of  debauch. 

In  the  twenty  years  that  intervened  between  Chicago's 
two  great  events,  the  Fire  and  the  Fair,  society  emerged, 
or  undertook  to  do  so,  from  the  strict  puritanic  influences 
of  the  old  conservative  leaders  here.  It  acquired  some  of  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  great  capitals  of  the  world  and 
learned  to  look  beyond  its  local  borders  for  inspiration  and 
guidance.  The  coming  of  Oscar  Wilde  in  1882  caused  a 
terrific  flutter.  Everyone  then  —  educated  largely  by  Gil- 
bert and  Sullivan's  famous  opera,  Patience  —  became  ex- 
tremely "esthetic."  Many  found  great  bodily  refreshment 
in  simply  sniffing  a  rose  or  a  lily.  Sunflowers  were,  for  some 
mysterious  reason,  the  rage,  though  the  high  priest  of  the 
new  cult  on  one  occasion  somewhat  wilted  the  popularity 
of  this  blossom.  At  a  "ladies'  luncheon"  where  he  was  the 
central  figure,  when  he  was  asked  as  to  what  flower  a  lady 
should  wear,  he  sighed :  — 

"She  should  wear  a  lily;  she  may  wear  a  rose;  but  never, 
oh  never,  a  sunflower." 

A  well-known  young  debutante  present,  who  wore  a 
bunch  of  sunflowers  as  a  corsage  bouquet,  hastily  smothered 
and  concealed  it  under  her  napkin  and  maneuvered  it  to  the 
floor  at  her  feet.  Such  a  trouble  it  had  been,  too,  to  procure 
those  sunflowers! 

Even  before  Oscar  Wilde  cast  his  unwholesome  spell  over 


FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR  261 

this  community,  another  exotic  from  a  more  alien  peo- 
ple had  appeared  for  a  brief  while  to  shock  the  pious  and 
give  a  certain  fearful  joy  to  the  lighter-minded,  irked  by  the 
orthodox.  This  was  Sarah  Bernhardt,  at  that  time  fairly 
reeking  with  unwholesome  notoriety.  With  bated  breath 
people  spoke  of  her  then,  of  her  unfathered  child,  — the 
rumor  grew  to  children;  —  of  her  many  amours;  of  her  pro- 
pensity to  sleep  in  a  coffin;  of  her  tendency  to  caress  a  pet 
skull  she  carried  about  with  her;  above  all,  of  her  unpar- 
alleled emaciation.  There  was  the  favorite  quip  of  the  day: 
"An  empty  cab  drove  up  and  Sarah  Bernhardt  got  out." 

She  came  to  Chicago  and  played  some  of  her  great  rdles 
here,  and  the  question  every  one  asked  his  or  her  neighbor 
was:  "Are  you  going  to  hear  her?"  One  well-known  Chi- 
cagoan  is  reported  to  have  said,  - 

"I  do  not  consider  that  anyone  who  would  go  to  see 
Sarah  Bernhardt  play  would  be  a  fit  guest  at  my  dinner- 
table." 

In  spite  of  this,  many  did  go,  though  little  good  did  it 
do  most  of  them,  as  few  then  could  speak  or  understand 
French.  One  wit  said  he  loved  to  go  to  a  Bernhardt  per- 
formance just  to  watch  Mrs.  (a  prominent  social 

leader)  smile  whenever  Sarah  said,  "oui." 

Mme.  Bernhardt  was  then  an  artist  as  well  as  an  actress, 
and  held  an  exhibit  of  her  paintings  and  sculpture  at  O'Bri- 
en's Art  Gallery.  She  sent  out  hundreds  of  invitations  to 
the  opening  reception  and,  swathed  in  a  black,  clinging, 
utterly  un-American  gown,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  gal- 
lery, ready  to  receive  and  converse  with  any  and  all.  Crowds 
came,  but  they  circled  around  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
room,  leaving  her  in  the  center  of  a  vast  solitude.  She  looked, 


262  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

they  said,  like  a  leopardess  at  bay.  The  only  one  who  had 
the  courage  and  good  manners  to  go  up  to  speak  to  her  was 
Miss  Amy  Fay,  the  musician,  whose  life  abroad  in  France 
and  Germany,  —  she  was  a  pupil  of  Liszt,  —  gave  her  a 
great  advantage  in  cosmopolitan  savoirfaire  over  her  fellow- 
citizens  in  Chicago. 

The  two  decades  we  are  considering  were  a  transitional 
period  which  developed  many  striking  personalities.  Every 
movement  toward  emancipation  is  started  by  leaders,  oft- 
en solitary,  unconscious  figures,  who  strike  out  from  the 
herd  and,  by  so  doing,  frequently  endure  criticism,  even 
obloquy.  Such  a  pioneer,  free  lance,  or  social  rebel,  accord- 
ing as  you  look  at  the  matter,  was  Mrs.  Herbert  Ayer,  bet- 
ter known  later  as  Harriet  Hubbard  Ayer.  If  I  cite  her  here, 
it  is  not  because  she  was  in  any  way  typical  of  the  Chicago 
of  her  time,  but  because  she  was  so  utterly  the  contrary.  In 
a  strait-laced,  conventional  community  she  ventured  to  be 
and  do  what  she  wanted.  As  I  look  back  on  her,  she  seems 
like  some  rare,  tropical  bird  of  gorgeous  plumage  strayed 
into  a  simple  country  hen-yard.  Mrs.  Ayer  loved  every- 
thing that  was  gay  and  pretty,  and  especially  everything 
that  was  French.  She  was  the  first  to  fill  her  house  with 
bric-a-brac,  to  read  French  novels  and,  worse  than  all,  to 
act  French  plays.  She  became  a  devotee  of  amateur  the- 
atricals and  in  a  north-side  club,  the  Anonymous  Club, 
which  flourished  in  the  seventies,  she  was  prime  mover  in 
many  dramatic  entertainments  in  which  the  club  delighted. 
Some  of  these  were  given  in  private  houses  and  some  in  the 
parlors  of  Unity  Church.  Some  were  great  successes,  and 
some  were  quite  the  contrary.  There  was  one  performance 
in  the  basement  of  Unity  Church  that  was  a  series  of  dis- 


FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR  263 

asters,  which  began  when  the  curtain,  rising,  caught  the 
fringe  of  a  table-cloth  on  a  table  at  the  front  edge  of  the 
stage,  and  dragged  it  up,  showering  the  floor,  as  it  rose, 
with  fragile  and  precious  objets  d'art.  Everyone  in  the  course 
of  the  play  forgot  his  or  her  part.  The  final  catastrophe  oc- 
curred when  Mrs.  Ayer,  the  heroine,  was  supposed  to  con- 
clude the  piece  by  either  fainting  or  dying  on  the  stage, 
and,  in  so  doing,  dropped  too  near  the  front  of  the  plat- 
form and  had  to  draw  in  her  feet  and  knees  to  avoid  the 
descending  curtain.  It  is  reported  that  Mr.  Ayer  was  found 
upstairs  in  the  dark,  empty  church,  lying  on  the  cushions  of 
a  pew,  his  handkerchief  stuffed  in  his  mouth  to  keep  in  the 
peals  of  unholy  laughter  which  threatened  the  peace  of 
the  evening. 

Mrs.  Ayer  distressed  the  high  principles  of  the  com- 
munity by  giving  Sunday  breakfasts  —  real  French  dejeu- 
ners a  lafourchette  —  at  which  she  served  omelettes  aux  fines 
herbes, chicken  livers  en  brochette,  cafe  noir,  and  alas!  vins 
Graves,  Sauternes,  or  Chablis;  and  to  which  she  invited  well- 
known  stage  celebrities,  among  whom  were  Edwin  Booth, 
Lawrence  Barrett,  and  John  McCulloch — all  of  which  was 
not  done  at  that  time  in  Chicago,  and  was  therefore 
anathema. 

So  it  was  really  but  a  just  fate  which  overtook  the  Ayers 
when  Mr.  Ayer's  firm  suffered  in  a  panic;  he  failed  and  had 
to  go  out  of  business.  He  had  for  some  time  been  estranged 
from  his  wife.  Mrs.  Ayer  gave  up  her  luxuries  and  under- 
took to  support  her  two  daughters  and  herself  by  the  man- 
ufacture and  sale  of  a  cream  known  as  the  "Recamier" 
cream,  and  other  cosmetics,  some  of  which  to  this  day 
are  on  the  market  under  her  name.  Later,  she  retired  from 


264  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

the  undertaking  and  became  the  head  of  a  department  in 
the  New  York  World  where  she  made  much  newspaper 
fame  for  herself. 

Whether  she  was  rich  or  in  restricted  circumstances,  she 
was  always  generous  in  sympathy  and  money  to  those  with 
whom  she  came  in  contact.  An  evidence  of  this  large- 
hearted  tenderness  was  her  return  to  her  divorced  husband, 
after  years  of  absence,  when  she  heard  that  he  was  alone, 
poor,  mind  gone,  and  body  sick  unto  death  at  the  Palmer 
House  in  Chicago.  She  took  care  of  him,  paid  all  the  many 
expenses  of  his  last  illness,  and  held  his  hand  as  he  died. 

She  loved  life  and  especially  its  beautiful,  luxurious,  amus- 
ing side,  yet  when  reverses  came  to  her  she  faced  and  con- 
quered them  with  a  gay  courage  which,  in  time,  I  think, 
disarmed  some  of  the  critics  who  had  watched  her  earlier 
career  with  disapprobation. 

What  would  those  critics  have  thought  had  they  looked 
on  at  life  to-day  when  some  women  smoke  cigarettes, 
drink  cocktails,  play  cards  for  money,  tint  their  cheeks  and 
lips,  and  yet  are  not  ostracized,  or  even  looked  at  askance 
by  many?  Times  and  customs  change,  but  not  the  relative 
positions  of  the  conservative  and  the  pleasure-loving  un- 
orthodox. 

One  of  the  gayest,  wittiest  of  the  young  married  couples 
in  Chicago  were  the  Alfred  Masons.  Mr.  Mason  was  a  son 
of  Roswell  B.  Mason,  a  fine  type  of  early  Chicagoan  who 
was  mayor  of  Chicago  from  1869  to  1871.  Mrs.  Mason,  who 
was  a  Miss  Minnie  Murdock,  of  New  Haven,  was  a  clever 
actress,  and  also  had  a  desire  to  achieve  fame  and  fortune 
as  a  writer.  She  wrote  a  little  novel  called,  May  Maddern. 
Its  success  may  be  estimated  by  the  bon  mot  of  one  of  her 


FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR  265 

friends  who  remarked:  " May  Maddern  must  madden."  She, 
herself,  said  that  she  wrote  it  to  furnish  her  parlor,  but 
that  it  barely  sufficed  to  furnish  her  vestibule. 

One  of  the  famous  houses  of  the  day  was  the  Perry  H. 
Smith  mansion  on  the  northwestern  corner  of  Huron  and 
what  was  then  Pine  Street,  now  North  Michigan  Avenue. 
It  was  a  large,  white  marble  edifice,  with  a  dark,  slate- 
covered  mansard  roof,  and  impressive  stone  steps  leading 
up  to  an  imposing,  pillared  front  entrance.  It  was  so  built 
that  to  the  childish  mind  of  the  day  it  suggested  a  big 
frosted  cake  with  a  large  slice  cut  out  of  it  —  if  that  con- 
veys anything  to  your  mind.  It  was  very  stately  inside, 
having  on  either  hand  suites  of  drawing-rooms  whose  spa- 
ciousness was  enhanced  by  high  ceilings  and  handsomely 
carved,  black- walnut  woodwork.  A  very  smart  little  theater, 
with  a  rising  semicircle  of  seats,  was  a  feature  of  the  house. 
Another  striking  adornment  was  some  large  mirrors  that 
could  be  drawn  across  the  tall  windows  at  night  and  which, 
as  handsome  crimson  velvet  curtains  hung  on  either  side, 
frequently  caused  much  confusion  to  guests  who,  thinking 
that  they  were  walking  through  a  doorway  into  another 
room,  would  bump  into  themselves.  This  was  apt  to  cause 
great  joy  to  onlookers. 

At  the  great  "house  warming"  which  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Smith  gave  to  show  their  new  home  to  their  friends,  Mr. 
Smith  took  some  of  his  guests  into  the  butler's  pantry 
where  three  faucets  bent  gracefully  over  the  "sink."  One 
was  for  hot  water,  one  was  for  cold  water;  while  the  middle 
one,  when  turned  on,  let  down  sparkling  champagne.  There 
was  something  of  the  splendor  and  decadence  of  ancient 
Rome  in  so  audacious  a  device. 


266  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

The  eldest  son  of  the  family,  Perry  H.  Smith,  Jr.,  took  a 
dip  into  politics  sometime  about  1880.  With  him  in  the  ex- 
perience were  the  late  John  Noyes  and  Alfred  Mason.  It 
was  much  rarer  then  than  now  for  scions  of  well-to-do  and 
prominent  families,  to  dedicate  themselves  to  their  coun- 
try's welfare.  He  offered  himself  as  a  candidate  for  some 
office,  I  forget  what.  That  he  was  not  successful  is  attested 
by  the  following  lines,  which  for  some  strange  reason  lodged 

in  a  childish  mind  that  omitted  to  retain  worthier  verse :  - 

/ 

Go  bury  young  Perry 
Far  out  in  the  woods, 

Where  politics  never  are  heard; 
Where  his  neat  little  legs 
Can  be  folded  to  rest, 

To  the  song  of  the  wild  mountain  bird. 

And  when  winter  comes, 
And  the  snow  and  the  ice 

Have  covered  his  dear  little  bed, 
His  partner,  Alf  Mason, 
Can  go  out  with  John 

And  visit  the  place  with  his  sled. 

What  simple,  rather  " high-brow"  social  gatherings  en- 
tertained the  folk  of  that  time!  There  was  the  Anonymous 
Club,  already  referred  to,  whose  membership  included  many 
well-known  people  of  that  era,  among  whom  were:  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Alfred  Mason,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Herbert  Ayer,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  F.  H.  Winston,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joseph  Kirkland,  Major 
and  Mrs.  Henry  Huntington,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edward  D. 
Hosmer,  the  Misses  Mary  and  Annie  Kelly,  Mr.  James 
Kelly,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  R.  Hall  McCormick,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Frank  Eastman,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gregory,  Mr.  William  Mc- 
Millan and  Mr.  Frank  Wheeler. 


FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR  267 

This  organization  had  no  by-laws  or  committees,  though 
it  had  presidents.  It  met  at  different  houses  and  its  pro- 
grams varied  from  grave  to  gay.  There  were  short  literary 
essays  "writ  and  read"  by  members.  There  were  musical 
evenings.  One  was  of  a  classic  character  when  a  band  of 
members  played  on  all  sorts  of  childish  instruments,  penny 
whistles,  little  trumpets,  and  drums,  combs,  and  their  ilk. 
There  were  humorous  performances  of  well-known  poems. 
On  one  occasion,  Lord  Ullen's  daughter  escaped  her  irate 
father  by  embarking  with  her  lover  in  a  wash-tub,  only  to 
be  engulfed  in  the  raging  billows  of  a  green  travelling-rug, 
while  from  the  side-scenes  someone  intoned  the  lines  of 
the  ballad  in  hollow  voice. 

On  another  occasion,  at  a  meeting  of  the  Club  at  the 
residence  of  Mr.  F.  H.  Winston,  an  erudite  lady  member 
read  a  long  paper  on  some  none  too  interesting  subject. 
The  host  was  found  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down  the  hall 
outside  the  drawing-room. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  paper?"  he  was  asked. 

"Fine,  fine!"  he  said,  "so  spun  out,  you  know." 

What  would  people  of  to-day  think  of  such  a  way  of 
spending  an  evening? 

Those  were  days,  moreover,  when  men's  clubs  really 
were  in  their  prime.  The  Union  Club  on  the  North  Side  had 
its  first  home  in  the  Mahlon  D.  Ogden  house,  the  old,  gray, 
wooden  structure  which,  in  its  encircling  grove  of  trees, 
was  the  only  building  for  miles  around  to  weather  the  Fire. 
The  members  used  to  give  summer  garden-parties  in  the 
pleasant  grounds. 

Later  they  built  a  handsome,  brownstone  club-house  across 
the  square,  on  the  corner  of  Dearborn  Avenue  and  Delaware 


268  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Place.  Here  the  pace  grew  swifter  for  many  of  the  members. 
It  became  the  fashion  for  a  certain  set  to  gather  in  a  card- 
room  and  play  cards  and  drink  —  well,  I  don't  know  what 
the  favorite  tipple  of  the  day  was,  it  was  before  the  cock- 
tail flourished.  These  carousals  went  on  nightly  and  lasted 
long,  much  to  the  distress  of  the  wives  waiting  alone  at 
home.  At  length  one  determined  woman,  a  well-known  and 
charming  young  Russian,  set  out  to  get  her  husband.  She 
pushed  by  the  protesting  door-man,  went  upstairs,  opened 
the  door  of  the  card-room  and  said :  — 

"Bob,  you  come  right  home  with  me!"  He  did. 

There  is  nothing  more  gratifying  to  orthodox  and  pious 
critics  than  the  inevitable  disintegration  of  any  group  of 
unwisely  jovial  mortals.  The  very  nature  of  their  commun- 
ion makes  such  companionship  short-lived.  So  the  gay  days 
of  the  Union  Club  passed  into  limbo.  The  succeeding  ha- 
bitues were  bachelors  or  widowers,  some  of  whom  eventually 
married,  leaving  too  small  a  number  to  maintain  the  club. 
The  building  is  now  a  most  excellent  home  for  working- 
girls  and  run  by  the  Salvation  Army. 

In  the  same  way  the  Calumet  Club,  on  the  South  Side, 
passed  through  its  various  phases  of  birth,  youth,  full  growth, 
and  decline. 

The  old  Exposition  building  on  the  lake  front,  —  of  the 
vintage  and  style  of  London's  Crystal  Palace,  —  was  a 
well-known  landmark  and  will  be  remembered  by  many  a 
Chicagoan  as  being  the  temple  of  various  civic  festivals  in 
the  two  decades  between  the  Fire  and  the  Fair.  Every 
autumn  it  was  the  setting  of  a  general  exposition  of  the  agri- 
cultural and  industrial  products  of  this  part  of  the  country, 
which  drew  thousands  of  visitors  from  the  surrounding  dis- 


FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR  269 

tricts  to  the  city.  Machinery,  manufactured  goods,  and 
farm  produce  all  jostled  each  other  in  a  cheerful,  ut- 
terly tasteless  fashion,  entirely  characteristic  of  the  cheer- 
ful, utterly  tasteless  age  in  which  they  flourished.  But  off 
in  one  corner  of  the  building  there  was  a  noteworthy  ad- 
junct to  this  annual  affair.  This  was  an  exhibition  of  paint- 
ings, occupying  three  or  four  rooms,  which,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Miss  May  Hallowell,  became  a  real  event  in  Chicago's 
fast-budding  life  of  culture.  It  was  the  direct  ancestor 
of  our  present  Art  Institute.  It  is  one  more  proof  of  the 
adage  that  "art  is  long  and  time  is  fleeting,"  for,  while  the 
pavilions  built  of  ears  of  golden  corn,  the  roaring,  champ- 
ing machinery,  the  collections  of  household  implements,  and 
the  ugly,  sturdy,  old  structure  itself,  have  all  vanished  from 
the  lake  front,  pictures  —  lineal  descendants  of  those  early 
exhibits  —  are  still  domiciled  there  in  a  fine  marble  palace. 
Thus  does  civilization  work  its  way  out  from  darkness  and 
materialism  to  light  and  the  life  of  the  spirit ! 

The  Exposition  building  housed  many  pleasant  under- 
takings. For  several  winters  there  was  a  good-sized  skating 
rink  in  one  end  of  it,  whose  great,  black  glare  of  ice  was  a 
favorite  rendezvous  for  skaters  and  onlookers. 

During  many  summer  seasons  Theodore  Thomas  gave 
the  first  of  his  famous  orchestral  concerts  there  and  held 
several  Wagnerian  festivals  under  the  iron  girders  of  this 
primitive  birthplace  of  music  and  art.  He  introduced  his 
public  gently  to  music,  as,  behind  the  rows  of  seats  that 
immediately  fronted  the  stage,  there  were  set  many  tables, 
backed  by  evergreen  trees  in  boxes.  Here  good  Milwaukee 
brews  were  served  the  thirsty  music-lover. 

What  has  become  of  the  thick  clouds  of  "sisco  flies,"  as 


270  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

they  were  then  called,  which  used  to  be  blown  to  us  from 
across  the  lake,  to  darken  the  air,  hang  in  festoons  from  the 
street-lamps,  collect  in  slimy,  fish-smelling  drifts  underfoot, 
and  last,  but  by  no  means  least,  settle  all  over  the  Thomas 
Orchestra  men?  The  bald  cellist  of  that  day  had  to  make  a 
cap  of  his  red  bandanna  handkerchief  to  protect  his  head. 
The  performer  on  the  wide-mouthed  cornet  frequently  was 
obliged  to  shake  an  accumulation  of  flies  from  his  instru- 
ment. The  long-bearded  drummer  could  be  seen  combing 
them  out  of  his  whiskers.  These  restless,  frail,  poor-spirited 
insects  were  a  pest  that  seems  to  have  been  abashed  and 
abolished  by  our  more  complex  civilization,  which  likewise 
did  away  with  the  old  Exposition  building,  New  Year's 
Day  calling,  square-dances,  big  bustles,  the  hired  man,  the 
family  soup-tureen,  and  various  other  once  familiar  insti- 
tutions. 

There  flourished  here  in  the  two  penultimate  decades  of 
the  nineteenth  century  a  group  of  men  of  rare  wit  and 
mellow  wisdom  such  as  seldom  grows  and  flourishes  in  so 
young  and,  in  many  ways,  crude  a  community.  They  did 
not  seek  either  fame  or  fortune,  so  little  is  left  of  them  to- 
day but  their  fast -fading  names.  But  neither  before  nor 
since  has  their  like  or  their  equal  been  known  here.  Major 
Henry  Huntington  (commonly  called  "the  Major"),  Dr. 
Clinton  Locke  (who  said  of  himself  that  his  sense  of  humor 
stood  between  him  and  a  bishopric),  Edward  G.  Mason, 
Professor  David  Swing,  James  Norton,  and  Joseph  Kirkland 
formed  the  nucleus  of  a  group  whose  forum  was  the  Chicago 
Literary  Club.  Their  brilliant  papers,  their  trenchant,  pithy 
wit  —  now  satirical,  now  more  genial  in  humor  —  have 
never  been  equalled  since.  Alas,  that  no  record  was  kept  of 


FROM  FIRE  TO  FAIR  271 

their  clever  banquets,  their  literary  meetings,  their  sparkling 
sallies  and  quips!  They  lived  before  Chicago's  intensely 
prosperous  and  material  era  —  an  era  which  developed 
rapidly  after  the  World's  Fair. 

There  was,  on  the  South  Side  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
last  century,  a  group  of  men  and  women  who,  in  a 
certain  worldly  sense  of  the  word,  added  more  to  the 
lustre  of  Chicago's  social  life  than  any  other  single  set 
of  well-to-do,  cultivated,  pleasure-loving  people  we  have 
had.  The  Arthur  Catons,  Augustus  Eddys,  John  M.  Clarks, 
Frank  Gortons,  George  M.  Pullmans,  Wirt  Dexters,  Frank- 
lin MacVeaghs,  J.  M.  Walkers,  W.  W.  Kimballs,  N.  K.  Fair- 
banks, Henry  Dibblees,  Hugh  T.  Birchs,  Norman  Williamses, 
and  Marshall  Fields,  were  all  prominent  in  this  set.  The 
South  Side  Dancing  Class,  which  later  developed  into  the 
fashionable  balls  of  Chicago,  was  started  by  Mrs.  Dexter 
and  Mrs.  Pullman,  whose  husbands  wanted  to  learn  to  dance. 
The  class  was  organized  with  a  teacher  and  met  in  the 
evenings  at  the  different  houses,  the  men  wearing  business 
suits  and  the  women  high-necked  dresses.  The  evenings 
ended  with  light  "refreshments"  — coffee  and  sandwiches, 
or  lemonade  and  cake,  according  to  the  season. 

There  was  much  hospitality  of  a  simple  kind  in  that 
epoch  and  also  good  music.  Mrs.  Clark,  Mrs.  Birch,  Mrs. 
Gorton,  and  Miss  May  Allport  used  to  give  piano  recitals, 
playing  double  duets. 

It  wasn't  the  custom  to  fly  from  Chicago's  hot  season  in 
those  days  —  it  was  before  our  smoke  era  —  and  most 
houses  in  that  neighborhood  (Prairie,  Calumet  and  Mich- 
igan avenues  from  Sixteenth  Street  south  )  used  to  have  wide 
verandas,  on  which  gay  companies  gathered  in  the  warm 


272  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

summer  evenings.  There  was  much  driving  out  to  the  Wash- 
ington Park  Club  for  the  races  and  lively  dinners  after- 
wards. To-day,  that  once  cheerful,  sociable  neighborhood  is, 
either  entirely  obliterated  by  the  march  of  progress  —  so 
called  —  or  quite  other  tenants  occupy  the  big,  friendly 
houses,  whose  former  owners  are  scattered,  some  to  the 
North  Side,  some  to  other  cities,  and  still  others  to  that 
country  from  whose  bourne  no  traveller  returns.  To  go  back 
there  is  to  tread  alone  a  banquet-hall  deserted. 

There  is  no  other  city  whose  inhabitants  have  such  a  ha- 
bit of  emulating  the  chambered  nautilus  and  building  them 
more  stately  mansions.  Chicagoans  even  go  beyond  the 
nautilus  and  forsake  entirely  the  locality  to  which  they 
have  given  character  and  prestige.  At  present  the  trend  of 
residents,  —  those  who  can  pick  and  choose,  —  is,  as  it 
has  been  for  many  years  —  northward.  This  is  partly  due 
to  the  encroachments  of  business  on  the  West  and  South 
sides,  and  even  on  the  lower  part  of  the  North  Side;  but 
the  main  force  behind  this  movement  is  the  desire  to  live 
on  or  near  the  beautiful  lake  shore,  a  shore  unobstructed 
by  railways  or  shipping. 


XVII 

THE  YESTERDAY  OF  THE  HORSE 
BY  HOBART  C.  CHATFIELD-TAYLOB 

SHOULD  a  discerning  historian  write  the  story  of  Chicago  in 
years  to  come,  I  feel  confident  that  he  will  select  the  age 
just  preceding  the  World's  Fair,  as  the  most  engrossing 
period  of  our  history;  and  since  the  horse  was  its  distin- 
guishing feature,  he  will,  I  venture  to  say,  dub  it  the 
"Hippie  Age." 

Though  the  glories  of  the  World's  Columbian  Exposition 
were  conceived  at  that  time  by  the  genius  of  John  Wellborn 
Root,  and  a  taste  for  music  was  instilled  in  our  reluctant 
hearts  by  Theodore  Thomas,  it  is  not  our  artistic  achieve- 
ment so  much  as  our  metropolitanization  which  distin- 
guishes that  period  from  all  others  in  our  history.  Shedding 
our  small-town  ways,  we  became,  by  leaps  and  bounds,  a 
city  of  cosmopolitan  mien,  —  a  metamorphosis  largely  due, 
I  believe,  to  the  appearance  of  the  horse  as  a  social  factor. 

Trotting  horses  with  flowing  manes  and  tails  having  been 
seen  in  our  shady  streets,  and  the  "fast  young  men"  who 
drove  them  to  sulkies  and  side-bar  buggies  having  shocked 
our  more  sanctimonious  citizens  long  before  "Charlie" 
Schwartz  first  "tooled"  his  drag  down  Michigan  Avenue, 
it  is  perhaps  more  historically  exact  to  attribute  the  ele- 
gance of  this  age  to  the  horse's  tail  —  or  rather  to  his  lack 
of  one  —  than  to  that  animal  himself;  since  not  until  his 
tail  had  been  docked  did  he  become  a  civilizing  influence. 


274  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

Perhaps  the  credit  for  the  startling  changes  which  took 
place  in  Chicago  in  those  days  before  the  World's  Fair 
should  be  given  to  the  man  behind  the  tail,  it  being  the  Eng- 
lish coachman,  after  all,  who  refined  our  uncouth  manners. 
Indeed,  no  sooner  did  he  sit  clean-shaven  and  erect  upon 
the  box,  where  formerly  a  mustachioed  Scandinavian,  or 
colored  man,  had  slouched,  than  the  owner  within  the  car- 
riage began  to  realize  that  a  genteel  era  had  dawned  which 
made  the  mending  of  his  provincial  ways  a  duty  both  to  his 
family,  himself,  and  his  community. 

To  merit  the  approval  of  one's  English  coachman  became 
an  obsession  in  those  days,  for,  oh,  what  a  deal  of  scorn  lay 
in  the  curl  of  that  supercilious  fellow's  lip,  if  one  chanced  to 
call  a  "trap"  by  the  uncouth  name  of  "rig,"  or  to  speak  of 
a  pair  of  horses  as  "a  team!"  Indeed,  one  had  need  to  un- 
learn all  that  had  been  taught  by  the  "hired  man"  of  one's 
youth,  it  being  no  longer  permissible  to  seize  a  rein  in  each 
hand  and  shout  "git  ap!"  to  the  horses,  or  to  drive  them 
with  the  whip  stuck  democratically  in  the  socket.  Further- 
more, it  became  unseemly  to  jerk  one's  reins  so  that  a  sud- 
den slap  of  their  slack  on  the  backs  of  one's  nags  might 
induce  the  said  nags  to  increase  their  speed ;  while  to  sit 
comfortably,  with  legs  apart  and  feet  against  the  dash- 
board, was  to  outrage  the  proprieties. 

Many  a  recalcitrant  millionaire,  it  is  true,  refused  to  mend 
his  primeval  ways,  even  while  courting  Dame  Fashion  with 
a  mail-phaeton  or  a  stanhope  of  the  latest  build.  The  tails 
of  such  a  one's  horses  were  still  undocked  and  the  reins 
with  which  he  drove  them  were  held  at  arm's  length,  but 
whenever  he  chirped  to  them  to  hasten  their  steps,  some 
passing  coachman,  in  boots  and  breeches,  was  sure  to  mur- 


THE  YESTERDAY  OF  THE  HORSE        275 

mur  sotto  voce  to  the  carriage  groom  beside  him:  "I  say, 
Bill,  'e  must  'ave  a  cage  of  canaries  under  'is  seat." 

Ah,  how  superior  we  younger  men,  who  had  learned  to 
keep  our  knees  together  and  our  feet  well  under  us,  felt  to 
those  lubberly  millionaires,  as,  with  reins  held  correctly  in 
the  left  hand  and  whip  poised  deftly  in  the  right,  we  sped 
toward  the  park!  Indeed,  we  knowing  ones  saw  at  a  glance 
the  defects  of  every  turnout  on  the  road,  and  read  its  ow- 
ner's character.  Clanking  chains,  for  instance,  in  lieu  of 
modest  pole-straps,  or  a  harness  mounted  as  ornately  as 
that  of  a  royal  coach,  bespoke  the  parvenu;  while  an  un- 
shaven coachman  in  ill-fitting  coat  and  unbrushed  hat,  told 
beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  his  master  was  a  care- 
worn man,  made  pale  and  stoop-shouldered  by  the  weight 
of  business. 

From  the  old-time  codger  in  a  buggy,  with  a  linen  duster 
on  his  back  and  fly-net  on  that  of  his  horse,  to  the  flashy 
young  man  of  the  hour,  with  a  brazen  coryphee  from  Rice's 
Evangeline  troupe  beside  him  on  the  seat  of  his  Whitechapel 
cart,  all  classes  of  society  paraded  on  the  Avenue  in  those 
days.  Milady  drove  in  a  C-spring  victoria,  her  pretty  daugh- 
ter fared  forth  in  a  phaeton,  attended  by  a  groom  in  boots 
and  breeches,  or  if  she  was  particularly  horsey,  in  a  tilbury, 
or  even  a  tandem  cart.  Meanwhile,  the  wife  of  the  butcher, 
or  the  baker,  clucked  to  a  long-tailed  horse  in  the  shafts  of 
a  canopy-topped  surrey,  all  sorts  of  women,  as  well  as  of 
men,  being  on  the  Avenue,  in  those  halcyon  days. 

But  the  time  to  view  the  passing  show  was  Derby  Day 
when  all  Chicago  was  on  parade  and  lines  of  moving  ve- 
hicles of  every  description  known  to  the  coach-builders'  craft 
stretched  from  the  Hotel  Richelieu  to  Washington  Park. 


276  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

To  those  of  the  present  generation  a  sight  as  splendid  as 
that  which  met  the  eye  on  this  day  of  days  is  quite  unknown. 
Alas,  the  white  macadam  of  Michigan  Avenue  has  been 
oiled  a  dingy  brown,  and  the  chugging  motor-car,  which 
has  supplanted  the  horse-drawn  vehicle,  bears  the  same  rela- 
tion in  beauty  to  a  well-appointed  drag  that  an  ocean 
tramp-steamer  does  to  a  clipper  ship  with  a  "bone  in  her 
teeth." 

A  drag,  it  may  be  said  for  the  benefit  of  the  uninitiated, 
is  a  private  coach,  or  "tally-ho,"  as  it  was  perversely 
called,  because  the  first  public  coach  put  on  the  road  in 
this  country  by  Colonel  Delancy  Kane,  was  named  the 
"Tally-ho."  It  might  as  readily  have  been  the  "Tantivy," 
in  which  case  all  members  of  the  genus  coach  —  which  in- 
cludes the  road-coach,  the  drag,  and  the  brake  —  would 
have  been  known  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
land  as  "Tantivies."  Indeed,  in  those  days  mankind  might 
have  been  classified  as  those  who  called  coaches  "tally-hos," 
and  those  who  didn't,  those  who  did  being  Philistines  in 
the  hippie  world. 

While  the  majority  of  the  Chicagoans  who  sped  toward 
Washington  Park  on  Derby  Day  belonged  to  this  class  with- 
out a  saving  grace,  to  your  true  horseman's  way  of  think- 
ing, even  they  went  forth  in  holiday  spirit  to  see  the  great 
American  Derby  won  or  lost  by  the  horse  on  which  their 
dollars  had  been  staked,  Chicago  being  then  an  unreformed 
city,  where  the  personal  right  to  dissipate  was  still  un- 
curbed. 

But  I  am  wandering  afield,  the  Washington  Park  Club 
and  its  sophisticated  display  of  horseflesh  and  humanity, 
rather  than  public  morals,  being  the  topic  I  have  in  mind. 


THE  YESTERDAY  OF  THE  HORSE        277 

To  stand  on  the  broad  veranda  of  the  Club-house  on  the  first 
day  of  the  annual  season  of  horse-racing,  and  watch  the 
arrival  of  the  members,  was  to  witness  a  display,  such  as 
the  Chicago  of  to-day  cannot  rival,  there  being  now  no 
opportunity  for  society  to  foregather  in  such  style  as  the 
Washington  Park  Club  afforded  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago. 

Looking  backward  to  that  period,  I  find  it  difficult,  I 
confess,  to  recall  the  faces  and  names  of  all  who  were  prom- 
inent in  the  hippie  age,  the  glories  of  which  I  am  endeavor- 
ing to  recount.  But  a  few  come  distinctly  to  mind,  partic- 
ularly among  the  coaching  men.  Of  these,  the  pioneer, 
as  I  have  already  noted,  was  Charlie  Schwartz,  whose 
Brewster  drag  and  team  of  bays  created  a  veritable  sen- 
sation when  it  appeared  in  Michigan  Avenue  for  the  first 
time. 

For  a  season  or  two,  Charlie  Schwartz  had  the  road  to 
himself;  then  Valentine  Dickey  appeared  to  rival  him  with 
a  coach  equipped  in  western  fashion  with  whiffle-trees,  and 
soon  Hall  McCormick  was  driving  a  team  of  roans  to  a  Lon- 
don-built drag.  Then  Potter  Palmer,  not  to  be  outdone, 
turned  out  both  a  coach  and  a  French  char-a-banc,  with 
marvellous  leopard  skins  spread  over  the  seats  of  both 
vehicles,  which  created  a  sensation,  I  acknowledge,  but 
did  not  win  the  approval  of  the  stickler  for  good  form. 

The  fifth  coach  to  appear  in  Michigan  Avenue  was  my 
own  yellow-wheeled  Kimball  drag,  drawn  by  a  team  of 
golden  chestnuts ;  and  I  confess  that  I  took  particular  pride 
in  the  fact  that  both  coach  and  harness  were  made  in 
Chicago.  At  a  later  day,  Arthur  Caton  took  to  the  road  with 
a  Brewster  drag  and  a  team  of  bays ;  but  Charlie  Schwartz 
had  already  ceased  to  "sit  his  bench,"  as  they  used  to  say 


278  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

in  the  old  coaching  days  of  England ;  therefore  five  was  the 
greatest  number  of  coaches  to  be  driven  in  Chicago  at  any 
one  time.  General  Torrence,  to  be  sure,  drove  a  drag  during 
the  World's  Fair  days,  but  somehow  the  rest  of  us  never 
quite  accepted  him  as  one  of  the  coaching  set,  and  my  recol- 
lection is  that  before  he  appeared  in  Michigan  Avenue  both 
Charlie  Schwartz  and  Valentine  Dickey  had  taken  their 
last  drive. 

Among  the  drivers  of  tandems,  Frank  Whitehouse l  was 
easily  foremost.  Being  a  skilled  whip,  his  leader  was  never 
known  to  turn  and  face  him.  The  same  cannot  be  said,  I 
fear,  of  Ben  Lamb,  or  Norman  Fay,  or  even  Jamie  Walker, 
tandem  driving  being  an  art  in  which  only  those  excel  who 
have  "hands,"  as  well  as  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
use  of  the  whip-thong. 

Among  those  who  drove  to  the  Derby  in  less  spectacular 
vehicles  than  drags  and  tandem  carts,  the  names  of  but  few 
stand  forth  in  my  memory;  yet  in  those  days  everyone  who 
was  anyone  was  on  the  road  in  some  sort  of  trap  or  other. 
I  recall,  however,  Columbus  R.  Cummings  and  William  B. 
Howard  as  men  whose  turnouts  were  spick  and  span,  and 
likewise  striking.  And  I  remember  Marshall  Field  in  a  high- 
ly respectable  stanhope-phaeton  with  long-tailed  horses; 
but  I  confess  that  my  memory  of  the  great  parade  on  Derby 
Day  is  rather  a  panoramic  picture,  than  a  "close  up"  of 
any  individual. 

Toward  the  distant  city,  stretches  a  long  line  of  smart 
vehicles,  the  mountings  of  their  harnesses  glistening  in  the 
June  sunlight.  At  the  gate  of  the  Club  grounds,  a  stone's 

1  The  late  Francis  Meredith  Whitehouse,  of  Chicago  and  New  York,  a 
son  of  Bishop  Whitehouse. 


THE  YESTERDAY  OF  THE  HORSE        279 

throw  away,  there  was  a  turn  in  the  road  and  from  it  to 
the  Club-house  steps  was  a  rise  of  ground,  up  which  the 
horses  of  the  drags  were  wont  to  rush  at  a  gallop.  "Spring- 
ing 'em"  is  the  horsey  way  of  describing  this  spirited  dash. 
When  a  team  had  been  brought  up  all  standing,  and  a  nim- 
ble groom  had  sprung  to  the  leaders'  heads,  the  more  portly 
coachman  placed  a  folding  ladder  against  the  coach.  While 
pretty  women  in  modish  finery,  and  men  in  top-hats,  with 
field-glasses  slung  across  their  shoulders,  descended  from 
their  proud  seats  to  the  ground,  a  flutter  of  excitement 
spread  along  the  Club-house  veranda,  a  coaching  party 
being  the  cynosure,  in  those  days,  of  all  fashionable  eyes. 

The  occupants  of  the  box-seat  were,  of  course,  the  ob- 
served of  all  observers,  it  being  a  seat  akin  to  a  throne.  Even 
the  less  favored  ones  on  the  "gammon"  or  "backgammon," 
as  in  coaching  parlance  the  other  seats  were  called,  felt 
themselves  as  superior  to  those  who  viewed  them  from  the 
ground,  as  ladies-in-waiting  undoubtedly  must  feel  towards 
all  others  of  their  sex  at  a  Queen's  drawing-room,  an  invita- 
tion to  drive  to  the  Derby  on  a  drag  being  the  acme  of 
social  achievement. 

To  figure  this  distinction  mathematically,  there  were  but 
five  coaches  in  a  city  of  a  million  people.  Moreover,  even  if 
the  number  of  persons  upon  the  seats  exceeded  the  limit  of 
coaching  correctness  to  that  of  the  seating  capacity  of  the 
vehicles  themselves,  only  fifty  people  all  told  could  drive 
to  the  races  in  the  finest  of  style,  and  only  five  women,  or 
one  to  each  200,000  mortals  in  the  city,  could  occupy  box- 
seats. 

But,  if  there  were  but  five  bona  fide  coaches  in  the  town, 
there  were  several  four-horse  brakes,  and  at  least  a  score  of 


280  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

tandem  carts  to  add  their  share  of  sportive  zest  to  the  Derby 
Day  parade.  I  am  bound  to  confess,  however,  that  the  girls 
who  went  to  the  races  in  the  ticklish  vehicles  last  mentioned 
were  courageous  to  a  degree,  in  those  days,  when  social 
aspirants  were  in  the  habit  of  hastily  taking  up  tandem 
driving,  just  to  be  in  the  swim.  Moreover,  if  I  am  to  chron- 
icle the  entire  truth,  I  must  add  that  more  than  one  of  our 
proud  drivers  of  a  four-in-hand  was  ignorant  of  the  art  of 
"pointing"  his  leaders  when  turning  a  corner,  as  well  as  of 
that  of  "folding"  a  whip-thong  neatly,  after  performing  the 
difficult  feat  of  flicking  a  leader,  many  a  Chicagoan  who 
owned  highsteppers  being  a  parvenu  in  horsemanship. 

Once  more,  however,  I  am  wandering  afield,  the  art  of 
driving  being  a  topic  apart  from  Chicago's  hippie  age,  for 
while  there  were  but  five  coaches  and  a  score  of  tandem 
carts  in  our  Derby  Day  parade,  there  were  dog-carts,  til- 
burys,  gigs,  and  stanhopes,  galore,  and  a  goodly  sprinkling 
of  smart  victorias,  with  pretty  rosettes  on  the  head-stalls  of 
their  sleek-coated  horses,  and  pretty  women  within  them 
conscious  that  the  eyes  of  friend  and  enemy  alike  were  upon 
their  newest  gowns.  Even  the  husbands  beside  them  were,  if 
they  happened  to  be  wearing  white  spats  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives,  pitifully  conscious  too,  I  fear,  of  the  scornful 
glances  of  their  business  associates,  the  Derby  being  an 
occasion  of  ordeal  rather  than  of  joy  for  many  a  citizen  of 
our  budding  metropolis. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  notable  event  in  the  life  of  the  city, 
and  the  Club-house  lawn  with  its  display  of  well-dressed 
women  and  men  was  a  sight  to  vie  in  elegance  with  the 
Ascot  enclosure  and  the  lawn  at  Goodwood  in  their  palm- 
iest days.  In  recalling  its  glories,  I  cannot  refrain  from  la- 


THE  YESTERDAY  OF  THE  HORSE         281 

menting,  Puritan  though  I  am  by  nature  and  inheritance, 
that  the  "Sport  of  Kings"  has  been  banished  from  our 
midst.  I  lament  in  other  ways,  too,  the  passing  of  the  horse 
-  the  cutter  racing  in  winter,  for  instance,  over  the  glisten- 
ing snows  of  the  boulevards,  and  the  horse-shows  in  the  old 
Exposition  building  on  the  lake  front,  where  the  winning  of 
a  blue  ribbon  used  to  fill  one's  cup  of  happiness  to  overflow- 
ing. Unlike  their  successors  in  the  Coliseum,  these  horse- 
shows  of  which  I  speak  were  truly  amateur  affairs,  where  the 
contestants  were  all  citizens  of  the  town,  and  their  entries, 
the  horses  and  traps  of  every -day  use. 

To  show  a  four-in-hand  or  tandem  in  that  tan-bark  ring, 
while  the  band  played,  and  the  crowd  shouted,  and  the 
pretty  women  in  the  boxes  clapped  their  little  gloved  hands, 
was  as  thrilling  an  experience,  I  believe,  as  one  can  have 
in  this  world,  short  of  war  in  the  front -line  trenches.  The 
competition  was  keen  and  sportsmanlike,  and  to  maneuver 
a  four-in-hand  in  the  midst  of  that  clamor  without  breaking 
one's  own  neck,  or  that  of  some  guileless  spectator,  required 
considerable  skill,  particularly  if  you  were  called  upon  to 
cut  figure-eights,  or  drive  unscathed  between  a  series  of 
posts,  with  a  leeway  of  only  a  few  inches  between  your  hub 
and  the  obstacles.  But  the  most  pleasing  memory  which 
comes  to  me  from  those  glorious  days  of  the  horse  is  that 
of  driving  a  coach  through  the  parks  and  boulevards  at 
night. 

The  clicking  of  the  hoofs  upon  the  hard  macadam,  the 
rhythmical  creaking  of  the  harness,  the  merry  rattle  of  the 
lead-bars  are  delectable  sounds,  I  recall,  as  I  sit  before  an 
autumn  fire  dreaming  of  those  days  long  gone.  I  seem  to  see 
my  old  team  of  chestnuts  before  me,  and  feel  the  weight  of 


282  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

their  reins  upon  my  forearm.  Sniffing  their  stable  from 
afar,  they  spring  into  their  collars  with  a  will,  while  the 
coach-lamps  shed  their  glimmering  rays  upon  the  white 
roadway  ahead.  Pricking  up  their  trim  little  ears,  the  leaders 
shy  at  a  shadow;  a  wheel-horse  starts  to  break,  and  as  I 
speak  a  soothing  word,  the  familiar  notes  of  Who'll  Buy  a 
Broom?  sound  sweet  and  clear  upon  the  night  air. 

Awakened  from  my  reverie  by  the  snorting  of  an  auto- 
mobile muffler,  opened  in  defiance  of  the  law,  I  lament  the 
degenerate  age  in  which  I  am  forced  to  end  my  days.  No 
machine,  alas,  howsoever  speedy  or  noisy  it  may  be,  can 
ever  take  the  place  the  horse  used  to  hold  in  my  affection 
during  Chicago's  palmiest  days. 

For  though  the  sound  of  the  horn  is  dead, 

And  the  guards  are  turned  to  clay, 
There  are  those  who  remember  "the  yard  of  tin" 

And  the  coach  of  the  olden  day. 


XVIII 

THE  WORLD'S  FAIR 
BY  MRS.  WILLIAM  J.  CALHOUN 

A  RADIANCE  hangs  over  the  summer  of  the  World's  Fair 
and  makes  it,  to  all  that  part  of  Chicago  that  holds  it  in  the 
memory,  a  thing  apart.  The  vanished  city  that  rose  out  of 
the  mists  of  the  marshes  by  the  shore  of  the  blue  lake  had 
in  it  a  quality  that  never  will  come  again.  Only  those  who 
have  wandered  through  the  Court  of  Honor,  from  the  flash- 
ing waters  of  the  MacM onnies  fountain  to  the  Peristyle  and 
the  great  lake,  and  have  seen  the  white  buildings  and  their 
gay  pennants  reflected  in  still  lagoons  can  believe  in  a  beauty 
so  poignant  that  it  was  almost  pain.  Only  those  who  have 
floated  in  gondolas  at  dusk  around  the  Wooded  Island  and 
have  come  out  upon  the  splendid  Court,  gay  with  its  thous- 
ands of  lights  doubled  in  flickering  water,  the  rising  sprays  of 
the  fountains  rainbow-colored,  can  know  the  infinite  leisure 
that  makes  for  dreams  in  the  memory.  And  perhaps  too, 
only  those  who  rode  down  the  Midway  in  a  wheeled  chair, 
guided  by  a  bright  young  student  from  some  western  uni- 
versity, can  recognize  the  enchantment  that  hung  over 
the  life  of  that  street  and  the  villages  from  far-away  worlds 
that  lined  it.  The  tragedy  of  gayety  as  of  beauty  lies  in  its 
evanescence  and  in  the  powerlessness  of  words  to  present 
it  to  the  imagination. 

But  to  Chicago,  the  World's  Fair  was  something  more 
than  a  fascinating  festival,  a  city  of  dreams.  It  represented 


284  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

a  struggle,  a  mighty  effort,  a  notable  victory.  Beyond  giving 
her  the  opportunity  and  official  backing,  the  nation  did 
very  little  to  aid  the  vast  undertaking.  It  was  the  will  of 
the  city  working  against  heavy  odds  that  brought  success. 
It  was  the  sacrifice  and  devotion  of  the  men  who  had  built 
the  West,  laborer  and  capitalist,  that  made  the  White  City 
out  of  a  dream. 

The  Board  of  Directors1  was  composed  of  big  men,  men  who 
had  arrived  and  had  done  their  part  to  make  the  city  arrive. 
The  first  president  of  the  Board  was  Lyman  J.  Gage,  the 
second  William  T.  Baker,  and  the  third  and  last,  who  bore 
the  brunt  of  the  battle,  Harlow  N.  Higinbotham.  From  its 
first  meeting  to  its  last,  it  was  animated  by  no  mean  spirit. 
It  saw  things  large,  with  imagination,  vision  and  idealism. 

1  At  the  first  meeting  of  stockholders,  April  10, 1890,  the  following  directors 
were  elected :  — 

Owen  F.  Aldis  Cyrus  H.  McCormick 

Samuel  W.  Allerton  Andrew  McNally 

William  T.  Baker  Joseph  Medill 

Thomas  B.  Bryan  Adolph  Nathan 

Edward  B.  Butler  Robert  Nelson 

William  H.  Colvin  John  J.  P.  Odell 

Mark  L.  Crawford  Potter  Palmer 

DeWitt  C.  Cregier  J.  C.  Peasley 

George  R.  Davis  Ferdinand  W.  Peck 

James  W.  Ellsworth  Erskine  M.  Phelps 

John  V.  Farwell,  Jr.  Eugene  S.  Pike 

Stuyvesant  Fish  Martin  A.  Ryerson 

Edward  T.  Jeffrey  Anthony  F.  Seeberger 

Lyman  J.  Gage  Charles  H.  Schwab 

Harlow  N.  Higinbotham  William  E.  Strong 

Elbridge  G.  Keith  Charles  H.  Wacker 

Rollin  A.  Keyes  Robert  A.  Waller 

Herman  H.  Kohlsaat  John  R.  Walsh 

Marshall  M.  Kirkman  Charles  C.  Wheeler 

Edward  F.  Lawrence  Frederick  S.  Winston 

Thies  J.  Lefens  Charles  T.  Yerkes 
Otto  Young 


THE  WORLD'S  FAIR  285 

The  qualities  that  had  made  the  success  of  big  business  in 
the  West  made  the  success  of  the  Fair  and  proved  once  again 
that  captains  of  industry  are  potential  artists  and  poets, 
that  the  scope  of  imagination  in  the  one  is  as  powerful  as 
in  the  other.  With  a  fine  spirit  of  sacrifice,  the  directors  put 
aside  their  immediate  concerns  and  their  personal  interests 
to  give  of  their  time  and  energy  whole-heartedly  to  a  great 
cause.  Opposition  only  stimulated  them,  difficulties  became 
their  stepping-stones  to  achievement. 

The  triumphal  note  was  sounded  at  the  very  beginning 
when  the  architects  and  landscape  architects  whom  they 
had  appointed  to  design  the  Fair,  —  Burnham  and  Root 
on  the  one  hand,  and  Olmsted  and  Company  on  the  other, 
—  after  making  the  ground-plan  which  proved  to  be  its  firm 
foundation,  asked  permission  to  select,  without  competition, 
the  greatest  designers  of  the  country  and  invite  them  to 
plan  and  construct  the  buildings.1  The  directors  responded 
instantly  to  the  superb  generosity  of  this  appeal,  and  from 
that  moment  the  noble  spirit  of  the  Fair  was  assured.  In  a 
measure  it  disarmed  the  hostility  of  the  East,  to  whom  no 
good  could  come  out  of  Nazareth,  and  it  opened  the  path- 

1  The  plans  submitted  by  these  architects  were  adopted  by  the  Board  of 
Directors  on  November  21, 1890.  A  Construction  Department  was  then  formed 
with  Daniel  H.  Burnham  as  Chief  of  Construction,  John  W.  Root  as  architect, 
Abram  Gottlieb  as  engineer,  and  Olmsted  &  Company  as  landscape  architects. 
At  the  first  session  of  the  Board  of  Architects  selected  by  these  men,  in 
January,  1891,  the  buildings  were  assigned  as  follows:  — 

Administration,  Richard  M.  Hunt  Horticulture,  Jenney  &  Mundie 

Agriculture,  McKim,  Mead  &  White  Fisheries,  Henry  Ives  Cobb 

Machinery,  Peabody  &  Stearns  Venetian  Village,  Burling  &  Whitehouse 
Manufactures,  George  B.  Post  (abandoned  later) 

Electricity,  Van  Brunt  &  Howe  Mines,  Solon  S.  Beman 

Transportation,  Adler  &  Sullivan 
At  a  later  date,  the  Art  Building  was  assigned  to  Charles  B.  Atwood. 


286  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

way  for  an  enterprise  that  was  not  sectional  but  national, 
not  for  a  day  but  for  all  time.  The  architects  thus  honored 
assembled  in  Chicago  in  January,  1891,  and  inspected  the 
cold  and  dreary  waste  which  they  were  to  transform  into 
fairyland.  But  if  the  aspect  of  the  marshes  of  Jackson  Park 
was  discouraging,  there  was  enough  vitality  and  imagination 
in  the  great  ground-plan  to  inspire  their  highest  efforts. 
They  were  skeptics  when  they  arrived  in  Chicago,  but  they 
left  firm  in  the  faith  which  animated  the  men  they  were 
consulting.  Even  the  sudden  death  of  the  consulting  archi- 
tect, John  W.  Root,  who  had  put  all  his  ardent  vitality 
into  the  labor  of  preparation,  could  not  then  discourage 
them,  and  the  work  went  on  without  him  along  the  lines 
and  in  the  spirit  that  he  and  his  partner  had  marked  out. 
Innumerable  difficulties  faced  the  builders  and  the  gallant 
body  of  directors  as  time  went  on,  but  they  met  them  like 
an  army  with  banners  and  conquered  all  along  the  front, 
until  the  mirage  they  had  seen  over  the  waters  of  the  lake 
became  the  White  City. 

With  this  mighty  effort,  the  city  reached  its  maturity 
and  made  its  debut  among  the  cities  of  the  world.  The  same 
energy  and  the  same  faith  went  into  it  that  rebuilt  Chicago 
after  the  Fire,  and  the  idealism  that  always  dominates  in 
America  when  she  faces  a  great  opportunity  or  a  great  peril. 
Contemporary  records  bear  eloquent  testimony  to  the 
magnitude  of  the  task  and  give  glimpses  of  manners  and 
customs  now  changed  or  outgrown.  The  long  contest  on 
the  subject  of  Sunday  closing,  which  dragged  its  slow  way 
through  the  courts,  seems  as  archaic  as  the  persecution  of 
witches  in  Salem.  In  this,  as  in  other  things,  the  Chicago 
directors  proved  themselves  in  advance  of  the  times,  while 


THE   WORLD'S  FAIR  287 

the  national  commission  was  overhung  with  prejudice. 
The  directors  finally  won  the  privilege  of  opening  the 
grounds  on  Sunday,  but  the  exhibits  which  were  under  the 
control  of  the  Government  remained  firmly  closed  to 
inspection. 

Banquets  and  breakfasts  were  numerous  during  the  ex- 
position season,  and  official  entertainments  were  not  with- 
out their  amusing  side.  They  began  long  before  the  Fair 
was  opened,  and  this  preliminary  hospitality  culminated  in 
the  dedication  of  the  buildings  on  October  21,  1892,  four 
hundred  years  to  a  day,  by  the  revised  calendar,  after  the 
little  caravels  of  Columbus  sighted  the  new  world.  The 
change  from  October  12th  was  made  out  of  courtesy  to 
New  York  and  its  naval  celebration,  and  it  was  then  dis- 
covered that  the  difference  from  the  old  reckoning  made  the 
21st  the  true  anniversary. 

The  ceremony,  preceded  by  a  military  parade  which  was 
largely  an  escort  to  the  Vice-President  of  the  United  States, 
Levi  P.  Morton,  took  place  in  the  huge  unfinished  building 
for  Manufactures  and  Liberal  Arts.  More  than  100,000 
people  were  massed  on  the  floor  and  in  the  galleries.  At  the 
far  end,  the  chorus  of  5,500  singers  led  by  William  L.  Tom- 
lins,  and  the  orchestra  conducted  by  Theodore  Thomas, 
made  a  fluttering  picture  when  their  waving  handkerchiefs 
flew  up  like  birds.  The  ceremony  was  imposing.  It  began 
with  the  Columbian  March  composed  by  J.  K.  Paine;  con- 
tinued with  a  prayer;  an  address  by  Director-General 
George  R.  Davis;  a  speech  of  welcome  by  Mayor  Hemp- 
stead  Washburne;  selections  from  the  "Columbian  Ode," 
written  by  Harriet  Monroe,  some  of  them  read  by  Sarah  C. 
Le  Moyne,  others  set  to  music  by  George  W.  Chadwick  and 


288  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

sung  by  the  great  chorus.  Then  the  Director  of  Works, 
Daniel  H.  Burnham,  tendered  the  buildings  to  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Board  of  Directors,  Harlow  N.  Higinbotham, 
and  presented  to  him  the  master  artists  of  construction.  He 
in  turn,  after  Mrs.  Potter  Palmer  had  spoken  for  the  Board 
of  Lady  Managers,  offered  them  to  the  President  of  the 
World's  Columbian  Commission,  who  presented  them  to  the 
Vice-President  of  the  United  States,  for  whom  was  reserved 
the  honor  of  dedicating  them  to  "the  world's  progress  in 
arts,  in  science,  in  agriculture,  and  in  manufacture  —  to 
humanity."  Orations  by  Henry  Watterson  and  Chauncey 
M.  Depew  were  inaudible  to  the  vast  audience,  for  whom 
only  the  music  and  the  national  salute  fired  at  the  end  were 
eloquent.  But  they  added  their  part  to  the  dignity  of  an  oc- 
casion which  required  oratory,  even  though  it  was  unheard. 

With  hospitable  foresight,  the  Directors,  considering  it 
inappropriate  to  permit  the  sale  of  food  on  the  grounds  to 
their  invited  guests,  had  provided  a  light  luncheon  in  the 
galleries  of  the  Manufactures  Building,  and  over  70,000 
persons  were  successfully  served,  a  colossal  feat  of  western 
hospitality. 

Even  before  this  occasion  the  city  had  given  many  evi- 
dences of  her  generous  instincts.  When  she  was  struggling 
to  wrest  the  location  of  the  Fair  from  ardent  competitors, 
she  invited  the  Congressional  committee  and  the  families 
of  its  members  to  inspect  her  claims,  all  the  expenses  of  the 
journey  to  be  paid  by  the  city.  The  invitation  was  accepted 
and  the  families  came,  down  to  the  last  infant.  At  Mrs. 
Palmer's  reception  for  them,  a  large  crop  of  noisy  babies, 
who  could  not  be  left  at  home,  was  deposited  upon  her 
Egyptian  bed.  The  hospitality  of  the  exposition  could  not 


THE   WORLD'S   FAIR  289 

have  been  what  it  was  without  Mrs.  Palmer's  grace  and 
Mr.  Higinbotham's  urbanity.  As  President  of  the  Board 
of  Lady  Managers,  a  title  which  caused  a  shiver  when 
Congress  imposed  it  upon  a  reluctant  democracy,  Mrs. 
Palmer  played  her  part  with  distinguished  ability.  In  De- 
cember, 1892,  she  threw  open  her  house  for  the  Colum- 
bian Bazaar  of  All  Nations,  organized  by  the  Friday  Club 
to  raise  money  for  the  Children's  Building  at  the  Fair. 
Mrs.  James  B.  Waller  was  the  chairman  of  the  committee 
wiiich  developed  this  bazaar,  and  to  her  graceful  ignoring 
of  obstacles,  her  knowledge  of  women  and  what  they 
could  do,  her  gentle  persistence,  and  her  ready  hospitality 
to  new  ideas,  was  due  its  success.  It  was  a  forward-look- 
ing bazaar,  in  which  the  Friday  Club  and  all  its  friends 
triumphantly  arrived.  Very  lovely  were  the  booths  it 
created  in  Mrs.  Palmer's  art-gallery  and  salons,  and  the 
women  who  had  worked  for  weeks  to  burst  into  flower 
for  a  few  gay  nights.  That  they  were  efficient  as  well 
as  ornamental  was  proved  when  it  became  known  that 
the  bazaar  had  raised  the  then  unprecedented  sum  of 
$35,000  for  the  fund  for  the  Children's  Building.  It  was 
all  a  part  of  the  great  outstanding  enthusiasm  which 
animated  the  people  of  Chicago  and  made  them  for 
the  time  as  one. 

'They  have  had  a  vision,"  wrote  Walter  Besant  when 
he  tried  later  to  describe  the  indescribable  and  called  it, 
"the  greatest  and  most  poetical  dream  that  we  have  ever 
seen."  'The  people  dream  epics,"  he  added,  but  they 
dreamed  them  gaily,  high-heartedly,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  music  and  laughter.  It  was  a  magical  summer  and  all  its 
gaieties  partook  of  the  glamor  of  that  White  City  whose 


290  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

pennants  and  lights  were  always  dancing  in  the  waters  of 
the  lagoons. 

On  the  opening  day,  May  1,  1893,  it  was  not  considered 
necessary  to  repeat  the  formality  of  the  ceremonies  of  the 
previous  October.  A  great  crowd  assembled  in  the  open 
and,  when  President  Cleveland  touched  the  button  which 
started  the  machinery,  the  veils  fell  from  the  statue  of  the 
Republic,  flags,  banners,  and  gonfalons  were  broken  out,  and 
the  waters  of  the  great  fountains  rose  sparkling  in  the  sud- 
den sunshine.  In  the  thrill  of  the  moment,  the  multitude 
forgot  that  the  buildings  were  unfinished  and  the  roads  of 
the  Court  of  Honor  still  a  sea  of  mud.  After  this  dubious  be- 
ginning the  weather  was  kind  all  through  the  Fair,  though 
it  had  been  cruel  and  had  delayed  construction  during  the 
preceding  winter  and  spring. 

The  Duke  of  Veragua,  the  only  living  descendant  of 
Columbus,  was  present  at  the  opening  as  the  guest  of  the 
nation,  and  numerous  banquets  and  receptions  overpowered 
a  figure  not  made  for  glory  nor  accustomed  to  it.  He  liked 
being  the  guest  of  the  nation  better  than  occupying  his 
debt-ridden  haciendas,  so  well  indeed  that  he  lingered  on 
many  weeks,  "feeling,"  according  to  the  Chicago  Times 
"that  it  would  not  be  dignified  in  a  guest  of  the  United 
States  Government  to  be  in  a  hurry  about  taking  his  de- 
parture." 

There  were  other  guests  of  the  nation,  also,  whom  Chi- 
cago was  called  upon  to  entertain.  The  most  important  of 
them  was  the  Infanta  Eulalia,  representing  the  King  of 
Spain.  The  city  was  rather  overpowered  at  the  prospect  of 
receiving  her,  and  like  the  cities  in  the  East,  a  bit  too  ob- 
sequious in  its  preparations.  The  fact  that  she  was  "Roy- 


THE  WORLD'S  FAIR  291 

ally,"  as  the  press  of  the  time  put  it  with  a  big  "R,"  was 
blinding  to  a  modest  democracy,  until  she  proved  herself 
something  less  than  royalty  in  courtesy  and  grace.  With  a 
certain  respect  for  its  traditions,  the  city  selected  rooms  at 
the  Palmer  House  for  the  princess. 

'*  Massive  and  antique  is  the  furniture  in  the  Palmer 
apartments  to  be  used  by  the  Spanish  princess  and  her 
suite,"  says  the  Chicago  Tribune  of  June  6,  1893.  "Twenty 
years  ago  Potter  Palmer  fitted  up  these  rooms,  and  the 
same  old-fashioned  but  imposing-looking  beds  and  chairs 
and  lounges  and  tables  will  serve  the  royal  guest.  Every- 
thing is  huge  and  the  apartments  do  not  in  the  least  ap- 
proach the  idea  of  what  would  be  found  in  an  up-to-date 
hotel.  From  the  heavy  and  rich  fabrics  of  the  curtains  and 
carpets  to  the  mosaic  work  in  the  woodwork  of  the  beds,  it 
is  all  of  the  olden  time,  but  it  does  not  show  its  age.  Eulalia's 
bedroom  is  the  most  imposing  of  the  suite.  It  adjoins  the 
Egyptian  parlor  and  is  carpeted  with  a  handsome  Nile- 
green  Axminster.  The  curtains  and  coverings  of  chairs  and 
lounges  are  of  a  bronze-green  velvet.  The  bed  is  a  massive 
affair  of  mahogany,  with  a  canopy  from  which  are  suspend- 
ed curtains  of  heavy  gold  cloth.  The  coverlet  is  of  the  same 
rich  fabric,  with  hand-worked  designs.  The  head-  and  foot- 
boards are  inlaid  with  pearl  and  colored  woods  and  the 
pillows  are  soft  as  down.  On  a  mantlepiece  stands  an  or- 
molu clock  with  gold  decorations,  that  has  a  chime  attached. 
The  mantel  is  draped  with  Spanish  colors.  Pictures  adorn 
the  walls,  and  in  a  corner  is  a  silver  water-service,  while 
vases,  all  antique,  are  placed  in  available  niches.  The 
lounges  and  chairs  hold  soft  cushions  and  are  placed  in 
inviting  positions  in  all  parts  of  the  room." 


292  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

But  alas,  even  the  pillows  soft  as  down  and  the  silver 
water-service  did  not  create  in  the  princess  the  suavity 
which  could  accept  things  as  they  were  offered.  Hobart 
Chatfield-Taylor,  the  consul  for  Spain  at  Chicago,  did  his 
best  for  her  and  gave  her  refreshing  incognito  visits  to  the 
lovely  Fair,  but  even  with  that  assistance  she  could  not  play 
her  part  in  the  ceremony.  One  of  the  chief  functions  in  the 
program  was  a  reception  at  Mrs.  Palmer's  house,  but,  un- 
fortunately, before  it  took  place  the  infanta  learned  that 
her  host  was  to  be  the  owner  of  the  hotel  where  she  was 
lodged.  An  innkeeper  she  thought  him,  and  therefore  un- 
worthy to  entertain  a  princess.  She  was  constrained  at  last 
to  put  in  an  appearance,  but  she  arrived  an  hour  late  and 
she  departed  outrageously  early,  making  no  response  mean- 
while to  the  greetings  of  the  guests  as  they  were  presented. 
She  sat  upon  the  dais,  which,  with  too  much  courtesy  per- 
haps, had  been  prepared  for  her,  in  sullen,  unsmiling,  un- 
bending silence,  while  her  beautiful  hostess,  standing  at  her 
side  and  offering  martyred  Chicago  society  at  her  altar, 
tried  in  vain  to  thaw  the  icy  atmosphere.  Mrs.  Palmer  did 
those  things  well  and  in  the  minds  of  her  guests  that  night, 
it  was  she  who  was  the  princess. 

Many  other  formal  functions  were  given  during  the  Fair, 
breakfasts  in  the  beautiful  Music  Hall,  receptions  in  the 
Administration  Building,  and  the  Woman's  Building,  ban- 
quets in  the  New  York  Building,  the  White  Horse  Inn  and 
Old  Vienna.  The  mayor  of  the  city,  Carter  H.  Harrison, 
did  the  official  honors  with  southern  graciousness  and 
northern  energy.  A  picturesque  figure,  either  on  horseback 
wearing  his  old  slouch  hat,  or  after  dinner  in  the  vivid  grace 
of  his  old-fashioned  oratorical  periods,  he  imposed  his  hand- 


THE  WORLD'S  FAIR  293 

some  personality  on  many  a  pompous  ceremonial.  It  was  a 
grief  through  all  the  streets  of  the  city,  high  and  low,  when 
he  was  shot  at  his  post  on  October  28  by  a  fanatic,  and  the 
close  of  the  Fair  was  shadowed  by  his  death. 

In  all  the  official  hospitality,  the  president  of  the  Board 
of  Directors,  Mr.  Higinbotham,  did  the  honors  with  dis- 
tinguished ability,  a  gracious  personality,  sympathetic 
understanding,  with  that  simplicity  and  modesty  which  are 
always  a  part  of  dignity.  And  Mr.  Burnham,  as  Director  of 
Works,  was  another  citizen  of  no  mean  city  who  played  his 
hospitable  part  well.  In  him  was  the  imagination  of  a  poet 
—  rich,  spacious,  far-reaching,  seeing  things  in  terms  of  the 
future,  grasping  possibilities  and  making  them  real,  mag- 
netic, persuasive  and  compelling. 

All  the  world  came  that  summer  to  Chicago,  and  all  the 
world  was  well  entertained.  At  the  beginning,  things  moved 
slowly  and  the  attendance  was  too  small.  But  gradually  the 
country  awoke  to  its  opportunity,  and,  as  a  contemporary 
newspaper  reports  Mrs.  Paran  Stevens  to  have  said,  many 
of  "the  very  nicest  people  in  New  York  paid  Chicago  the 
great  compliment"  of  coming  to  see  the  Fair.  On  the  Fourth 
of  July,  the  admissions  reached  330,542,  and  from  that  time 
success  was  assured.  On  Chicago  Day,  dramatically  fixed 
for  the  9th  of  October,  the  anniversary  of  the  great  fire  of 
1871,  a  wave  of  pride  and  joy  swept  over  the  city  which 
sent  761,942  people  through  the  gates.  These  figures  alone 
explain  the  Fair,  testifying  to  the  enthusiasm  and  single- 
minded  devotion  which  made  it  possible.  Even  more  than 
the  fact  that  Chicago  itself  had  raised  more  than  $10,000,000 
to  meet  the  Government's  grudging  $7,500,000,  they  show 
that  the  energy  and  idealism  that  animated  capital  and 


294  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

labor  in  the  great  work  of  construction  were  an  impelling 
force  in  every  heart.  It  was  another  evidence  that  the  sup- 
port of  an  appreciative  public  always  lies  back  of  a  no- 
table achievement  in  the  arts. 

But  to  those  who  lived  in  Chicago  through  that  magical 
summer,  each  little  by-way  was  touched  with  enchantment. 
The  Midway  was  a  never-ending  source  of  gayety.  It 
brought  all  nations  to  our  doors,  it  gave  us  the  world  for 
our  plaything.  After  a  morning  riding  a  donkey  through 
the  Streets  of  Cairo,  watching  the  wedding  procession,  and 
buying  trinkets  of  Far-away  Moses,  one  could  lunch  in  the 
lovely  square  at  Old  Vienna,  while  the  band  discoursed  ex- 
cellent music,  and  stroll  afterwards  down  the  Midway,  with 
its  costumes  of  all  nations  and  its  amusing  fakirs,  to  the 
Bedouin  Camp  or  Blarney  Castle  or  the  theater  of  the  South 
Sea  Islanders,  where  the  Samoans  danced  their  blithe,  bar- 
baric rounds.  There  were  many  other  corners  to  take  one 
away  from  the  prosaic  modern  world,  —  the  Dahomey  Vil- 
lage, quite  untrammeled  by  civilized  conventions ;  the  Ferris 
Wheel,1  which  was  the  prosaic  precursor  of  the  aero- 
plane; the  Hindoo  jugglers;  the  Congress  of  Beauties; 
the  startling  verities  of  the  danse  du  venire  in  Cairo  Street; 
the  strange  postures  and  gorgeous  color  of  the  scenes  in 
the  Chinese  theater.  Most  enchanting  of  all,  perhaps,  of 
the  glorified  side-shows  on  the  Midway,  was  the  Java  Village, 
with  its  houses  and  industries  straight  from  the  South  Seas, 
and  its  exquisite,  tiny  women,  dainty  as  porcelain,  strange 
as  oriental  gods.  In  their  own  theater  a  new  kind  of  charm 

1  The  Ferris  Wheel  was  afterward  transported  in  sections  to  Paris  for  the 
exposition  of  1900.  It  still  stands  in  the  Champ  de  Mars  near  the  Eiffel 
Tower,  and  after  the  armistice  was  signed  in  1918,  many  American  wounded 
soldiers  looked  down  on  Paris  from  the  windows  of  its  moving  cars. 


THE  WORLD'S  FAIR  295 

was  revealed,  a  beauty  that  was  partly  grotesque,  a  grace 
that  was  stiff  with  decorative  gesture.  And  beyond  the 
confines  of  the  Midway,  there  were  bits  from  the  old  world 
and  the  new  that  were  strange  to  our  vision,  —  the  Ceylon 
Building  and  the  Swedish,  the  lovely  caravels  of  Columbus 
and  the  little  Viking  ship,  the  Spanish  Convent,  La  Rabida, 
where  Columbus  slept  the  night  before  he  set  sail,  the  In- 
dian camp  with  its  totem-poles,  the  moving  sidewalk  on 
the  pier  leading  out  from  the  Peristyle  over  the  great  lake, 
and  the  lovely  Japanese  houses  on  the  Wooded  Island. 

Enchantment  hung  over  those  evenings  at  the  Fair.  A 
dinner  on  the  roof  of  the  New  York  Building,  overlooking 
the  lights  of  fairyland  reflected  in  its  waters,  could  be  fol- 
lowed by  a  gondola  ride  through  still  lagoons,  hints  of 
song  and  laughter  vaguely  breaking  the  silence,  and  that 
again  by  a  glimpse  of  the  high  barbarities  of  Java  on  her 
dainty  stage.  Or  one  could  dine  at  the  Cafe  de  Marine  look- 
ing out  upon  sunset  waters,  or  at  Old  Vienna, 1  with  a  dip 
into  the  Midway  afterwards,  or  at  the  White  Horse  Inn, 
where  the  prices  alone  would  have  staggered  Mr.  Pickwick. 

Tea  at  the  Japanese  tea-house  near  the  Fisheries  Build- 
ing, was  another  diversion  which  interrupted  the  serious 
business  of  examining  the  exhibits  or  spending  an  hour  or 
two  with  the  pictures  in  the  beautiful  Art  Building. 

But  the  special  quality  of  that  enchanted  summer  was 
that  the  business  of  life  was  its  diversion.  Here  were  all  the 
countries  of  the  world  at  our  doors  —  for  a  moment,  for  the 

1  On  one  occasion  there  was  a  fire  in  Old  Vienna  while  the  tables  were 
crowded  with  diners.  It  was  quickly  extinguished,  but  after  it  was  over  and 
calm  re-established,  the  Turkish  fire-brigade  trotted  in,  dressed  in  the  gay 
uniforms  which  they  had  waited  to  put  on.  The  band  rose  to  the  occasion 
and  struck  up  the  Turkish  Patrol. 


296  CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 

space  of  a  breath.  It  was  for  us  to  see  and  understand  and 
enjoy.  To  float  over  the  lagoons,  piloted  by  Antonio,  the 
Apache,  in  a  birch-bark  canoe,  to  dream  away  an  evening 
near  Columbia  on  her  throne  in  the  midst  of  rainbow-col- 
ored waters,  to  sleep  in  the  log  cabin  on  the  Wooded  Island 
and  see  the  Court  of  Honor  under  the  light  of  the  moon 
alone,  to  watch  through  the  Peristyle  the  sun  rise  over  the 
lake  —  all  this  was  to  drink  in  refreshment  for  a  lifetime. 

Gaiety  and  humor  were  mixed  in  with  it  all,  and  even 
the  most  serious  functions  were  sometimes  touched  with 
laughter.  We  were  a  bit  self-conscious  at  times  in  our  new 
cosmopolitan  clothes,  and  too  susceptible  to  criticism.  But 
we  had  grown  to  maturity  in  a  night  and  won  our  place 
among  the  cities  of  the  world. 

Perhaps  we  took  ourselves  most  seriously  in  the  World's 
Congress  Auxiliary,  a  series  of  conferences  held  on  the  lake 
front  in  the  building  which  is  now  the  Art  Institute.  Or- 
ganized to  discuss  the  problems  of  the  world  by  an  idealist 
who  was  something  of  a  fanatic,  C.  C.  Bonney,  it  was 
considered  a  visionary  and  impossible  project.  But  it,  too, 
made  good  and  brought  many  men  of  light  and  learning  to 
Chicago.  If  they  gained  more  than  they  taught,  we  were  all 
the  richer  for  their  impressions.  We  listened  to  them  and 
applauded  them  and  then,  our  duty  done,  took  our  gay 
way  out  to  the  radiant  Fair,  where  they  rapturously  fol- 
lowed. But  though  these  congresses  had  many  moments  of 
humor  and  many  of  success,  they  had  also  in  the  Parlia- 
ment of  Religions  a  notable  triumph.  It  achieved  the  im- 
possible by  uniting  on  a  single  platform  representatives  of 
all  nations  and  all  creeds.  In  variety  of  costumes  and  physi- 
ognomy it  could  not  have  been  more  picturesque,  and  its 


THE  WORLD'S  FAIR  297 

emotional  and  intellectual  appeal  was  powerful.  The  Hin- 
doo monks  made  a  sensation  which  lasted  and  grew  into 
a  cult.  For  a  long  time  the  image  of  Swami  Vivekananda 
in  his  orange-colored  robes  uttering  his  impassioned  periods 
was  a  thing  to  conjure  with.  And  if  the  Parliament  of 
Religions  did  not  succeed  in  uniting  the  people  of  the  world 
in  one  belief,  it,  at  least,  broadened  our  outlook  and  gave 
us  new  standards  of  judgment. 

In  every  way,  that  summer  was  the  beginning  to  the  city 
of  a  larger  life.  It  ended  the  period  of  adolescence  with  an 
achievement  so  vast  as  to  be  exhausting,  so  brilliant  that  it 
surpassed  any  possible  new  endeavor.  It  was  inevitable  that 
a  time  of  inertia  should  follow,  but  a  city  acquires  myste- 
riously its  character,  like  an  individual,  and  keeps  it  in 
spite  of  variations  and  weaknesses.  If  the  building  of  a 
permanent  Chicago  has  gone  on  haltingly,  if  it  has  not  risen 
to  the  standard  set  by  its  own  energy  in  1893,  it  is  certain 
that  the  qualities  which  made  that  success  are  still  here 
and  will  achieve  many  another.  Every  agitation  that  makes 
for  progress  rises  to  the  surface  here,  every  disaster  has  its 
turn  on  our  stage,  every  difficulty  and  struggle,  every  fail- 
ure and  high  endeavor  play  their  parts  here  in  the  making 
of  men.  And  behind  and  beyond  it  all  lie  the  force  that 
redeemed  the  wilderness,  the  vision  that  created  the  Court 
of  Honor,  the  faith  that  makes  all  things  possible. 


THE  END 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Ackerman,  William  K.,  185,  190. 

Ackerman,  Mrs.  Wm.  K.,  185. 

Adams,  Cyrus,  259. 

Adams,  Joseph,  259. 

Adams,  MacGregor,  244. 

Adams,  Mary,  137. 

Adler  &  Sullivan,  285. 

Adsit,  J.  M.,  12. 

Aldis,  Arthur,  247. 

Aldis,  Owen  F.,  284. 

Allerton,  Samuel  W.,  284. 

Allport,  May,  271. 

Angell,  Charles,  165,  174. 

Angell,  Mrs.  Charles,  165,  174. 

Armour,  George,  57. 

Arnold,  Alice,  198. 

Arnold,  Arthur,  199. 

Arnold,  Florence,  259. 

Arnold,  Isaac  N.,  12,  69,  78-80,  125, 

126, 128, 130, 135, 138, 146, 155, 194, 

198, 199. 

Arnold,  Mrs.  I.  N.,  198. 
Arnold,  Katherine,  130,  199. 
Arnot,  Miss,  69. 
Atwood,  Charles  B.,  285. 
Ayer,  Benjamin  F.,  180,  188,  202,  214. 
Ayer,  Mrs.  B.  F.,  v,  179-192. 
Ayer,  Herbert,  263,  264,  266. 
Ayer,  Mrs.  Herbert,  69,  262-264, 266. 
Ayer,  John  V.,  202. 

Badger,  A.  C.,  140,  165,  244. 
Badger,  Belle,  165,  174. 
Badger,  Eva,  165,  174. 
Badger,  Octavius,  202. 
Badger,  the  Misses,  259. 
Baird,  General,  208. 
Baker,  Miss,  137,  147,  148. 
Baker,  William  T.,  284. 
Balatka,  Hans,  100,  133. 
Balestier,  Caroline,  13. 
Balestier,  Joseph  N.,  13. 


Balestier,  Mrs.  Joseph  N.,  18. 
Balestier,  Wolcott,  13. 

Barnes, ,  252. 

Barnes,  Charles  J.,  202. 

Barney,  W.  J.,  201,  202. 

Barnum,  E.  S.,  239. 

Barrell,  Finley,  251. 

Barter,  T.  O.,  202. 

Bascomb,  Rev.  L.  F.,  62. 

Beale,  William  G.,  186. 

Beaubien,  Mark,  6,  11,  117. 

Beaubien,  Mcdard,  10. 

Beckwith,  Judge  William,  138, 207. 

Beecher,  Mrs.  Jerome,  78. 

Beman,  Solon  S.,  285. 

Benedict,  Amzi,  239. 

Benedict,  Carrie,  243. 

Bentley,  Cyrus,  45,  46,  122. 

Bentley,  Thomas,  12,  83. 

Berteau,  Monsieur,  137. 

Big  Thunder,  4,  236. 

Bigelow,  Emma,  97. 

Bigelow,  Lt.  Col.,  107. 

Bigot,  Mme.  Charles,  v,  143-161. 

Birch,  Hugh  T.,  271. 

Birch,  Minnie,  148. 

Bishop,  Henry  W.,  202,  212. 

Bishop,  Mr.,  25. 

Blackstone,  T.  B.,  207,  213. 

Blackwell,  R.  S.,  138. 

Blackwells,  the,  122. 

Blair,  Edward,  iv,  201-215, 249. 

Blair,  Mrs.  Edward  T.,  196. 

Blair,  William,  249,  250. 

Blair,  Mrs.  William,  iv,  29,  73-87. 

Blake,  Capt.,  10. 

Blaney,  Dr.,  137. 

Blatchford,  E.  W.,  86. 

Blatchford,  Mrs.  E.  W.,  86. 

Blodgett,  Henry  W.,  12,  240. 

Boal,  Charles  T.,  202. 

Bonney,  C.  C.,  286. 


302 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 


Boone,  Dr.  Levi,  30,  46,  69. 

Boone,  Mrs.  Levi,  69. 

Bostwick,  George,  222. 

Bostwick,  Mrs.,  133. 

Botsford,  James  K.,  4,  12. 

Bowen,  Chauncey  Keep,  188. 

Bowen,  James,  122. 

Bowen,  Jennie,  122. 

Brackett,  E.  C.,  11. 

Bradley,  Carl,  239,  246. 

Bradley,  David  M.,  91-93. 

Bradley,  Mrs.  David  M.,  91. 

Bradley,  W.  H.,  125. 

Bradner,  Lester,  180. 

Brainard,  Dr.,  see  Brainerd. 

Brainerd,  Dr.  Dan'l,  12,  130, 131, 136, 

137,  155. 

Brainerd,  Julia,  131,  155. 
Bristol  &  Porter,  57. 
Bross,  William,  12,  122. 
Brown,  Andrew,  70,  202. 
Brown,  Mrs.  Andrew,  70. 
Brown,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  H.,  86,  87. 
Brown,  William  Listen,  98. 
Bryan,  Thomas  B.,  125,  151,  284. 
Bryan,  Mrs.  Thomas  B.,  151. 
Bryan,  W.  S.,  136,  169, 176. 
Buchers,  the,  46. 
Burch,  I.  H.,  46,  83. 
Burch,  Minnie,  148. 
Burley,  Arthur  H.,  12,  15,  202,  206. 
Burley,  Augustus  H.,  iv,  12,  15-34. 
Burley,  Mrs.  Augustus  H.,  iv,  15-34. 
Burley,  Charles,  15,  34,  60. 
Burley,  Clarence,  15,  259. 
Burnham,  Daniel  H.,  98,  285, 288,  293. 
Burnham,  Mrs.  182. 
Burns  family,  245. 
Burton,  Mrs.  Stiles,  77,  78. 
Butler,  Lady  Arthur,  214. 
Butler,  Charles,  216, 232, 233, 235, 236. 
Butler,  Mrs.  Charles,  216,  232,  233, 

234. 

Butler,  Edward  B.,  284. 
Butterfield,  Ada,  67. 
Butterfield,  Justin,  12,  67. 

Calhoun,  Fay,  259. 
Calhoun,  John  B.,  187. 


Calhoun,  Mrs.  William  J.,  v,  283-297. 
Campbell,  B.  H.,  202. 
Campbell,  Mrs.  William  Norman,  70. 
Canda,  Eugene,  25,  70,  132. 
Canda  sisters,  70,  71,  132. 
Carl,  Tom,  84. 
Carpenter,  Benjamin,  139. 
Carpenter,  Judge  George  A.,  139. 
Carpenter,  George  B.,  124. 
Carpenter,  Mrs.  George  B.,  139,  221. 
Carpenter,  Hubbard,  139. 
Carpenter,  John  A.,  139. 
Carrey,  Edmond,  203,  206. 
Carter,  James,  71. 
Carter,  T.  B.,  12,  76,  88,  122. 
Case  family,  43,  151. 
Castle  and  Campbells,  84. 
Caton,  Arthur,  189,  244,  271,  277. 
Caton,  John  Dean,  8,  77. 
Caton,  Mrs.  John  Dean,  8. 
Chadwick,  George  W.,  287. 
Chapin,  John  P.,  58,  122. 
Chase,  Rev.  Dudley,  64. 
Chatfield,  Wayne,  245. 
Chatfield-Taylor,  Hobart  C.,  v,  273- 

282,  292. 

Chesbrough,  H.  F.,  135. 
Church,  Thomas,  4,  5. 
Church,  Mrs.  Thomas,  5. 
Clapp,  Miss,  67. 
Clark,  Mrs.  Edwin,  135. 
Clark,  John  M.,  122,  214,  271. 
Clark,  Louise,  219. 
Clarks,  the,  83,  100,  122. 
Clarke,  George  C.,  211,214. 
Clarkson,  Dr.  Robert  H.,  124  ,136,138. 
Clarkson,  Mrs.  R.  H.,  141. 
Cleaver,  Charles,  3,  189. 
Clow,  Kent,  245. 
Cobb,  Henry  Ives,  285. 
Cobb,  Silas  B.,  11,  12,  46,  78. 
Cobb,  Walter  F.,  203. 

Collamer, ,  60. 

Collyer,  Rev.  Robert,  63,  109,  257. 
Colvin,  William  H.,  284. 
Connell,  C.  J.,  203. 
Cook,  Isaac,  11,  41,  59. 
Coolbaugh,  W.  F.,  203. 
Cooley.  F.  B..  61. 


INDEX 


303 


Cornell,  Paul,  187,  188,  189. 

Corse,  General,  209. 

Corwith,  Nathan,  203. 

Couch,  James,  48. 

Couch,  Ira,  12,  48. 

Countiss,  R.  H.,  89,  90. 

Cramer,  Ambrose,  Jr.,  79. 

Cramer,  Mrs.  Ambrose,  79. 

Crawford,  Mark  L.,  284. 

Cregier,  De  Witt  C.,  284. 

Crerar,  John,  203,  213. 

Crosby,  Colonel  Schuyler,  208,  209. 

Crosby,  Uranus  H.,  158,  202, 203,  206. 

Cummings,  Columbus  R.,  278. 

Curzon,  Lady,  214. 

Daniels,  Mrs.,  27. 

Davis,  George  R.,  284,  287. 

Davis,  Dr.  Nathan  Smith,  136,  137. 

Davis,  S.  N.,  12. 

Deering,  Mrs.  Charles,  208. 

de  Koven,  John,  203,  213. 

de  Koven,  Mrs.  Reginald,  243. 

Dent,  Samuel,  247. 

Dewey,  Davis  R.,  186,  191. 

De  Wolf,  Edward  P.,  137. 

De  Wolf,  Henry,  127,  128. 

De  Wolf,  William  F.,  124. 

De  Wolf,  Mrs.  William  F.,  124. 

Dexter,  Wirt,  191,  203,  207,  271. 

Dibblee,  Henry,  271. 

Dickey,  Hugh  T.,  56,  77,  122, 202, 203, 

207. 

Dickey,  Valentine,  277, 278. 
Dickinson,  Rev.  Mr.,  239. 
Dickinson,  R.  B.,  239. 
Dickinson,  Mrs.  R.  B.,  239. 
Dodge,  Mrs.,  125. 
Doggett,  Mrs.  Kate,  137. 
Dole,  Charles,  243. 
Dole,  George  W.,  12,  55,  128. 
Dole,  Mrs.  George  W.,  124,  128. 

Dorman, ,  63. 

Dorsey,  Mrs.,  121. 

Douglas,  Annie,  254,  259. 

Douglas,  John  M.,  254. 

Douglas,  Stephen  A..  59,  86,  93,  102. 

Douglas,  Mrs.  Stephen  A.,  130. 

Dow, ,  182. 

Drake,  John  B.,  203. 


Drummond,  Thomas,  117,   118,  120. 

146,  155. 

Drummond,  Mrs.  Thomas,  127,  146. 
Drummond,  Mary,  v,  117-142. 
Dunham,  J.  H.,  81. 
Dunlap,  George  L.,  203,  207. 
Durand,  Mrs.  Henry,  252. 
Durand,  Joseph,  250. 

Dye, ,  98. 

Dyer,  Dr.  Charles,  6,  93,  96,  99,  125. 
Dyer,  Louis,  222. 

Eastman,  Frank,  266. 

Eddy,  Augustus,  244,  271. 

Eddy,  Rev.  Dr.  T.  M.,  108,  109. 

Eldredge,  Dr.,  206. 

Egan,  Dr.  W.  B.,  100,  179,  180. 

Ellsworth,  Col.  E.  E.,  46,  101,  136. 

Ellsworth,  James  W.,  284. 

Erskine,  Mrs.,  123. 

Evans,  Governor,  93. 

Fabian,  Robert  I.,  239. 

Fabian,  Will,  248. 

Fairbank,  N.  K.,  203,  210,  212,  218, 

271. 

Fairman,  Frank,  183. 
Farnam,  Mrs.  Henry,  121,  122. 
Farnham,  Sarah,  148. 

Farnum, ,  83. 

Farrar,  Col.  Henry  W.,  202,  203,  206. 

Farwell,  Anna,  243,  244. 

Farwell,  Charles  B.,  83,  202,  203,  214, 

237,  240,  245. 

Farwell,  Mrs.  Charles  B.,  244,  246. 
Farwell,  Fannie,  241. 
Farwell,  John  V.,  Jr.,  284. 
Farwell,  John  V.,  214,  239,  240,  246 

248. 

Farwell,  Mrs.  Walter,  130. 
Fay,  Amy,  262. 
Fay,  Norman,  278. 
Ferry,  Mrs.  A.  F.,  248. 
Ferry,  W.  H.,  239,  243. 
Field,  Leiter  &  Company,  88,  115. 
Field,  Marshall,  43,  212,  213,  271,  278. 
Fish,  Stuyvesant,  284. 
Fisher  brothers,  206. 
Fisher,  Archie,  244. 
Fisher,  George,  250. 
Fisher,  J.  K.,  202,  203,  209. 


304 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 


Fiske,  D.  B.,  203. 
Fleetwoods,  the,  122. 
Follansbee,  Charles,  4,  12,  46. 
Forrest,  Mr.,  26. 
Forsyth,  the  Misses,  196. 
Forsythe,  "Sandy,"  208. 
Forsythe,  "Tony,"  208. 
Fox,  Harry,  203. 
Freer,  L.  C.  P.,  46. 
Freer,  Dr.  Jos.  W.,  137. 
Fuller,  Melville  W.,  191,  207. 
Fuller,  S.  W.  203. 

Gage  Bros.  &  Rice,  202. 

Gage,  Clara,  135. 

Gage,  David  A.,  202,  203,  205,  206. 

Gage,  George  W.,  188,  203,  205,  206. 

Gage,  Lyman  J.,  207,  284. 

Gale,  Stephen  F.,  12,  15,  19,  69,  81, 

203. 

Garrett,  Augustus,  91. 
Garrett,  Mrs.  Augustus,  91. 
Gaylord,  Mrs.,  43. 
Gibbs,  George  A.,  57. 
Goodrich,  Grant,  12,  74,  124. 
Goodrich,  Kitty,  121. 
Goodwin,  Louise,  130. 
Goodwin,  Maj.  Daniel,  226,  227. 
Goodwin,  Stephen  A.,  130, 138. 
Goodwin,  Mrs.  S.  A.,  138. 
Gordon,  Mrs.  Nellie  Kinzie,  68,  87, 

137. 

Gorton,  Frank,  271. 
Gossage,  Charles,  187,  203. 
Gottlieb,  Abram,  285. 
Graham,  Mrs.,  130. 
Grant,  Frederick  Dent,  187,  208. 
Grant,  Mrs.  Frederick  Dent,  187. 
Grant,  Gen.  Ulysses  S.,  86,  105,  107, 

158,  160,  187,  211. 

Grant,  Mrs.  Ulysses  S.,  86,  187,  211. 
Greeley,  Mrs.  Frederick,  v,  193-200. 
Greeley,  Samuel  S.,  66. 
Greeley,  Mrs.  S.,  65. 
Greggs,  the,  210. 
Griffin,  E.  W.,  57. 
Grover,  Mr.,  98. 
Gulicson,  Ole,  93. 

Hadduck,  B.  F.,  46,  210. 


Hall,  Phillip  A.,  203. 
Hallam,  Rev.  Isaac  W.,  63. 
Hallowell,  May,  269. 
Hamill,  Mrs.  Ralph,  131. 
Hamilton,  Mrs.  R.  G.,  iv,  38. 
Hand,  Johnny,  177. 
Harmon,  Isaac  N.,  12. 
Harrington,  Mrs.,  60. 
Harrington,  Rev.  Mr.,  60,  62. 
Harrison,  Carter  H.,  Jr.,  iv,  103,  162- 

178. 
Harrison,  Carter  H.,  Sr.,  140, 162, 165, 

166,  167,  168,  175,  176,  177,  292. 
Harvey,  Turlington  W.,  174,  244. 
Harvey,  Mrs.  Turlington,  165,  174. 
Hathaway,  Mr.,  124. 
Havens,  the,  83. 
Hay,  John,  220. 
Hayes,  President  Rutherford  B.,  210, 

249,  251,  252. 

Hayes,  Mrs.  Rutherford  B.,  210,  252. 
Hayes,  S.  S.,  169. 
Haynes  family,  46. 
Healy,  Agnes,  152,  153,  154,  158. 
Healy,  G.  P.  A.,   86,    128,    143,    144, 

145,  153,  157,  158,  160. 
Healy,  Mrs.  G.  P.  A.,  86, 146, 151,  234. 
Heights,  Mrs.,  23. 
Henry,  Robert  L.,  244. 
Henry,  Mrs.  Robert  L.,  165. 
Herrick,  Dr.,  137. 
Hibbard,  Homer,  187. 
Higgins  Bros.,  134. 
Higgins,  Judge  Van  H.,  136, 138, 180, 

185. 

Higginson,  George,  151. 
High  family,  122. 
Higinbotham,  Harlow  N.,  284,  288, 

289,  293. 

Hill,  Mattie,  159. 
Hitchcock,  Charles,  185. 
Hitchcock,  Mrs.  Charles,  185,  186. 
Hoag,  Mrs.,  141. 
Hoard,  Samuel,  136. 
Hoge,  A.  H.,  63. 
Hoge,  Mrs.  A.  H.,  85. 
Holbrook,  John,  11. 
Holt,  Charlie,  255. 
Holt,  D.  R.,  238,  240,  243,  245. 


INDEX 


305 


Holt,  George,  248,  255. 

Honored  Adrian,  174. 

Honore,  Bertha,  174. 

Honore,  Harry,  174. 

Honore,  Henry  H.,  140,  164, 165,  166, 

168,  174. 

Honore,  Mrs.  H.  H.,  187. 
Honore,  Ida,  187. 
Hopkins,  George  B.,  203,  206. 
Hosmer,  Edward  D.,  266. 
Hotchkiss  family,  239. 
Houghteling,  William  D.,  136. 
Houghteling,  Mrs.  William  D.,  141. 
Howard,  Rev.  Dr.,  45. 
Howard,  W.  B.,  203,  278. 
Howe,  Francis,  128. 
Howe,  Mary,  137. 
Howe,  Mrs.,  22. 
Howe,  Rose,  128. 
Hoyne,  Thomas,  77. 
Hubbard,  Gurdon  S.,  12,  69,  70,  74, 

136. 

Hubbard,  Gurdon  S.,  Jr.,  69. 
Hubbard,  Mrs.  Gurdon  S.,  Jr.,  76,  77. 
Hubbard,  Henry,  12,  69. 
Hubbard,  Mrs.  Henry,  69. 

Hubbard, ,  69. 

Humphreys,  David,  26,  71. 
Humphreys,  Mrs.  David,  25,  26,  70, 

132. 

Humphreys  &  Winslow,  57. 
Hunt,  James  Anthony,  136. 
Hunt,  Mrs.  James  Anthony,  131. 
Huntington,  Alonzo,  200. 
Huntington,  Henry,  266,  270. 

Ingalls,  Rufus,  208. 

Isham,  Edward  S.,  203,  204,  212,  238. 

Jackson,  Huntington,  244. 
Jackson,  Obediah,  203. 
James,  Louis,  137. 
Jamieson,  Judge,  185. 
Janes,  John,  202,  203,  209. 
Jefferson,  Joseph,  133. 
Jeffrey,  Edward  T.,  284. 

Jennings, ,  171. 

Jenney  &  Mundie,  285. 
Jerome,  Mrs.  Eugene  N.,  127, 128, 
218. 


Jerome,  Eugene  N.,  127. 

Jerome,  Larry,  209. 

Jewett,  Mrs.  J.  N.,  252. 

Jewett,  John  N.,  130. 

Jewett,  Mrs.  Samuel,  196. 

Johnston,  Miss,  253. 

Johnston,  Samuel,  127,  199,  206. 

Johnston,  William  S.,  67,  239,  250. 

Johnston,  Mrs.  William  S.,  67. 

Johnston,  Mrs.  William,  174. 

Jones,  Mrs.  Benjamin,  5. 

Jones,  Caroline  Ogden,  127. 

Jones,  M.  O.,  259. 

Jones,  the  Misses,  131. 

Jones,  S.  M.,  203. 

Judd,  Norman  B.,  12,  77,  83,  85,  184, 

250. 
Judd,  Mrs.  Norman  B.,  85,  86, 250. 

Kales,  Francis  H.,  207. 

Kattee,  Walter,  203. 

Kays,  William  V.,  239,  245. 

Keith,  Edson,  214. 

Keith,  Elbridge  G.,  284. 

Keith,  Samuel  L.,  203,  206. 

Keith,  Scott,  244. 

Kelly,  Charles  V.,  135. 

Kelly,  James,  127,  222,  259,  266. 

Kelly,  the  Misses,  259,  266. 

Kerfoot,  Alice,  125,  126. 

Kerfoot,  Samuel  H.,  125,  126. 

Kerfoot,  William  H.,  138,  140. 

Kerfoot,  William  D.,  257. 

Keyes,  Rollin  A.,  284. 

Kimball,  Granville,  203,  204. 

Kimball,  W.  W.,  271. 

King  family,  27,  244. 

King,  Henry  W.,  86,  195,  197,  213. 

King,  Mrs.  Henry,  43,  86,  151. 

King,  Henry  W.  &  Company,  206. 

King,  Tuthill,  4,  12. 

Kinsley,  H.  M.,  46,  254. 

Kinzie,  Arthur,  68,  123. 

Kinzie,  Ellen  Marion,  IS. 

Kinzie,  George,  121. 

Kinzie,  John,  2,  11,  13,  68,  74,  78,  87. 

Kinzie,  Major  John  H.,    11,    46,    60, 

67,  68,  123. 
Kinzie,  Mrs.  John  H.,  68,  87,  123. 


306 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 


Kinzie,  Nellie,  87. 
Kirkland,  Caroline,  1. 
Kirkland,  Joseph,  266,  270. 
Kirkman,  Marshall  M.,  284. 
Kirkwood,  William,  203. 
Kohlsaat,  Herman  H.,  284. 

La  Framboise,  Miss,  10. 

Lake,  David  J.,  239,  246. 

Lamb,  Ben,  278. 

Lane,  Albert  G.,  135. 

Lane,  Miss,  137,  147,  148. 

Lamed,  Major  Charles  H.,  56. 

Lamed,  Edwin  C.,  61,  138. 

Lamed,  Edwin  J.,  239. 

Larrabee,  Mrs.  Charles,  26. 

Lathrop,  Bryan,  259. 

Lawrence,  Edward  F.,  284. 

Ledlie,  General,  209. 

Lefens,  Thies  J.,  284. 

Leightner,  Milton,  259. 

Leiter,  Levi  Z.,  211,  214. 

Lemoyne,  John  V.  102,  125. 

Le  Moyne,  Sarah  C.,  287. 

Lewis,  Anna,  137. 

Lewis,  Mrs.  Hiram,  137. 

Lewis,  Mary,  137. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  6, 7, 69,  85, 86, 103, 

105,  106,  110,  111,  135,  136,  158, 

160,  167,  183,  184. 
Lincoln,  Mrs.  Abraham,  86. 
Lincoln,  Robert  Todd,  203,  207,  211, 

212,  220. 

Lind,  Sylvester,  238,  245. 
Livermore,  Mrs.  Mary,  85. 
Lloyd,  Mrs.  Henry  Demorest,  85. 
Lochrane,  Judge,  211. 
Locke,  Dr.  Clinton,  270. 
Logan,  Gen.  John  A.,  Ill,  249. 
Lombard,  Frank,  108,  135. 
Lombard,  Jules,  46,  108,  135. 
Long,  Clara,  42. 
Long,  James,  42. 
Loomis,  H.  G.,  206. 
Loomis,  Col.  J.  Mason,  182,  203,  220. 
Loring,  Mrs.  Stella  Dyer,  222. 
Love  joy,  Owen,  93. 
Lunt,  Orrington,  93,  136. 
Lyon,  John  B.,  203,  206. 


McCagg,  Carrie,  70,  225. 

McCagg,  Ezra  Butler,    46,    61,    70, 

131,  138,  146,   156,  203,  204,  211, 
221,  223, 225,  228. 

McCagg,  Mrs.  Ezra  Butler,   70,    131, 

132,  156,  218,  221,  223. 
McCagg,  Louis,  70,  221. 
McCarty,  Mrs.  Samuel,  92. 
McClure,  Mrs.  J.  G.,  Jr.,  79. 
McClurg,  A.  C.,  214. 

McClurg,  Mrs.  A.  C.,  127,  145,  222. 
McClurg,  Ogden,  127. 
McConnell,  Mrs.  Samuel  P.,  165. 
McCormick,  Cyrus  Hall,  35,  38,  126, 

284. 

McCormick,  Leander,  35. 
McCormick,  Mrs.  Leander,  iv,  35-40. 
McCormick,  Robert  Hall,  35,  36,  37, 

196,  259,  266,  277. 
McCormick,  William,  35,  196,  197. 
McCormick,  Mrs.  William,  196. 
McGann,    Mrs.    Robert  Greaves,   v, 

237-256. 

McKay,  James  R.,  203. 
McLaury,  T.  G.,  203. 
McLennans,  the,  245. 
McMillan,  William,  266. 
McNally,  Andrew,  284. 
McVeagh,   Franklin,   207,   211,    214, 

271. 
McVicker,  Mary,  100,  134. 

Magee,   ,  53. 

Magie,  H.  H.,  126. 
Maher,  Hugh,  171. 

Mandel, ,  115. 

Martin,  Clara,  94. 
Mason,  Alfred,  264,  266. 
Mason,  Edward  G.,  63,  270. 
Mason,  Roswell  B.,  264. 
Matz,  Mrs.  Otto,  137. 
Maxwell,  Mary  Ann,  26. 
Maynard,  P.  C.,  20.5. 
Medill,  Joseph,  244,  284. 
Medill,  Mrs.  Joseph,  84. 
Meeker,  Alice,  44,  45. 
Meeker,  Arthur  B.,  11,  12. 
Meeker,  Mrs.  Arthur  B.,  iv,  41-46. 
Meeker,  George,  26. 
Meeker,  George  B.,  126. 


INDEX 


307 


Miller,  Mrs.  Henry,  130. 
Miller,  John,  11,  63. 
Minot,  Edward  J.,  203,  206. 
Mitchell,  Alexander,  71. 
Monroe,  Harriet,  287. 
Moody,  D wight  L.,  101. 
Moore,  Miss,  43. 
Moore,  Judge  Samuel  M.,  165. 
Moreau,  M.,  25. 
Morgan,  Francis,  202,  203,  206. 
Morgan,  James,  187. 
Morris,  Buckner  S.,  56,  165. 
Morris,  Mrs.  B.  S.,  165. 
Munger,  A.  A.,  203. 
Munger,  Wesley,  57. 
Murray,  Mary,  137. 
Murray,  W.  H.,  203. 

Nathan,  Adolph,  284. 
Neef,  Effie,  248,  253,  254. 
Neef,  Walter,  83,  248,  251,  254. 
Neef,  Mrs.  Walter,  83,  251,  254. 
Nelson,  C.  B.,  60. 
Nelson,  Robert,  284. 
Nevins,  Billy,  177. 
Newall,  Mrs.,  137. 
Newberry,  Mary,  124,  128,  156. 
Newberry,  Julia,  129,  156. 
Newberry,  Oliver,  10,  55. 
Newberry,  Walter  L.,  10,  11,  12,  67, 
124, 128, 129, 130, 155, 156, 195, 197. 
Newberry,  Mrs.  Walter  L.,  67. 
Newberry  &  Dole,  55. 
Nicholas,  Rev.  Dr.,  242. 

Nicholson, ,  60. 

Nickerson,  Samuel  M.,  203. 

Nillson, ,  222. 

Nixon,  William  W.  K.,  227. 

Nixon,  Mrs.  William  W.  K.,  196,  259. 

Norton,  Henry,  211. 

Norton,  James,  259,  270. 

Noyes,  John  T.,  259,  266. 

Odell,  John  J.  P.,  284. 
Ogden,  Eliza,  21,  216. 
Ogden,  M.  D.,  46,  131,  132,  216,  217, 

226. 
Ogden,  Mrs.  M.  D.,    132,    184,    223, 

224,  267. 


Ogden,  Wm.  B.,  11,  12,  26,  34,  46, 
52,  68,  69,  70,  78,  79,  80,  126,  128, 
131,  143,  144,  164,  195,  197,  204, 
217,  218,  220,  221,  228,  229,  231, 
232,  233,  234,  235. 

Ogden,  Mrs.  W.  B.,  69. 

Olmsted  &  Company,  238,  285. 

O'Neill's,  247,  248. 

Otis,  Philo,  12. 

Owen,  T.  V.,  11. 

Owsley,  Mrs.  Heaton,  176. 

Owsley,  John  E.,  165,  166,  172. 

Page,  P.  W.,  239. 

Page,  Peter,  104. 

Pages,  the,  245. 

Paine,  J.  K.,  287. 

Palmer,  Mrs.  Potter,  174,    187,    288, 

289,  292. 
Palmer,  Potter,  88, 122,  187,  189,  203, 

222,  277,  284,  291. 
Parker,  J.  Mason,  203. 
Patterson,  Dr.  Robert  W.,  62,  86, 109, 

238. 

Patterson,  Mrs.  Robert  W.,  83,  251. 
Payson,  Mr.,  25. 
Payson,  Mrs.,  25,  26,  70,  132. 
Peabody,  Mrs.  F.  B.,  141. 
Peacock's,  92. 

Peck,  Ferdinand  W.,  98,  284. 
Peck,  James,  41. 
Peck,  P.  F.  W.,  11,  12,  46. 
Peck  &  Company,  57. 
Pelton,  William  T.,  203. 
Perkins,  Norman,  187. 
Phelps,  Erskine  M.,  284. 
Pierson,  Henry  R.,  202,  203,  206. 
Pike,  Eugene  S.,  244,  284. 
Pooles,  the,  245. 
Post,  George  B.,  285. 

Powers, ,  252. 

Price,  Jeremiah,  12. 

Priestley,  Howard,  202,  203,  206. 

Pritchet,  Edward,  243. 

Pullman,  George  M.,  208,  212, 213, 

271. 

Quinlan,  Dr.  Charles  H.,  238, 249. 
Rauch,  John  H.,  203. 


308 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 


Ray,  Dr.  Charles  H.,  84. 

Raymond,  B.  W.,  12. 

Raymond,  John  B.,  202,  203,  206. 

Reed,  John  S.,  70,  131. 

Reid,  Simon  S.,  240. 

Reid,  Mrs.  Simon  S.,  242. 

Revell,  Emma,  101. 

Reynolds,  Mrs.,  141. 

Ribot,  Alexandra,  148. 

Ribot,  Mme.  Alexandra,  148. 

Rice,  Rev.  Dr.,  63. 

Rice,  John  B.,  64,  203. 

Richardson,  Rev.  Mr.,  63. 

Rogers,  Edward  K.,  12,  124. 

Rogers,  George  Mills,  165. 

Rogers,  Harry,  174. 

Rogers,  Judge  John  G.,  165,  168. 

Rogers,  Mrs.  Joseph  M.,  165. 

Rogers,  the,  140. 

Root,  Frederick,  182. 

Root,  George,  46,  108,  135,  182,  183. 

Root,  James  A.,  187. 

Root,  John  W.,  278,  285,  286. 

Ross,  William  M.,  203. 

Rossiter,  Gilbert,  238,  250. 

Ross  &  Gossage,  122. 

Rowe,  Mrs.  Charles,  92. 

Rozet,  G.  H.,  203. 

Rucker,  General,  208. 

Rumsey,  George,  136,  195,  259. 

Rumsey,  J.  P.,  245. 

Rumsey,  Julian  S.,  55,  131,  136,  195. 

Rumsey,  the  Misses,  259. 

Russell,  E.  W.,  203. 

Russell,  Jacob,  56. 

Russell  &  Company,  57. 

Rutter,  Dr.  David,  122. 

Rutter,  Dr.  J.  O.,  58,  81,  86,  203. 

Ryder,  Rev.  W.  H.,  109. 

Ryerson,  Ann  Catherine,  59. 

Ryerson,  Arthur,  259. 

Ryerson,  Edward  Lamed,  47. 

Ryerson,  Joseph  Turner,  iv,  47-72. 

Ryerson,  Mrs.  J.  T.,  141. 

Ryerson,  Mariette,  58. 

Ryerson,  Martin  A.,  284. 

Sabin, ,  252. 

Sabin,  Mrs.,  253. 


Saunders,  the  Misses,  137. 

Sawyer,  Nathaniel,  251. 

Scammon,  J.  Y.,  12,  85,  122,  128,  138, 

180,   184,   185,  188,  203,  204,  218, 

219. 
Scammon,  Mrs.  J.  Y.,  85,  132,  185, 

218,  220. 
Schneidau,  Count  von,  56,  127,  128, 

218. 

Schneidau,  Mrs.  von,  56,  128. 
Schneidau,  Pauline  von,  127,  128,  218. 
Schwartz,  "Charlie,"  273,  277,  278. 
Scudder,  M.  L.,  251. 
Scudder,  William  M.,  121,  225. 
Scudder,  Mrs.  William  M.,  126,  225. 
Seeberger,  Anthony  F.,  284. 
Sheldon,  E.  B.,  259. 
Sheldon,   Edwin  H.,   126,   127,    129, 

144,  223,  224,  228,  234. 
Sheldon,  Mrs.  Edwin  H.,  126, 145, 223. 
Sheldon,  Ellie,  145. 
Sheldon,  Fanny,  129,  220. 
Sheldon,  P.  C.,  12. 
Sheldon,  Gen.  W.  B.,  224. 
Shepard,  Henry  O.,  187. 
Shepard,  Mrs.  H.  O.,  187. 
Sheridan,  Col.  M.  V.,  208. 
Sheridan,  Gen.  Philip  Henry,  111,  114, 

207-209,  211,  219,  249,  251. 
Sherman,  Frank,  41,  59,  60. 
Sherrill,  Laura,  8. 
Shreve,  T.  T.,  244. 
Shumway,  H.  G.,  238,  239,  250. 
Sibley,  S.,  203. 
Simpson,  Rev.  Matthew,  109. 
Simpson,  Bishop,  106. 
Skinner,  Edwin  S.,  239. 
Skinner,  Elizabeth,  79,  155. 
Skinner,  Frederika,  79,  155. 
Skinner,  Judge  Mark,  12,  46,  56,  79, 

86,  122,  146,  155,  197,  207,  238. 
Skinner,  Mrs.  Mark,  81,  86. 
Small,  Dr.,  137. 
Smith,  Abbie,  252. 
Smith,  Allie,  243. 
Smith,  Charles  Mather,  180. 
Smith,  Delavan,  249. 
Smith,  Francis  Drexel,  180. 
Smith,  Frederick  Mather,  180. 


INDEX 


309 


Smith,  George,  71. 

Smith,  J.  A.,  46. 

Smith,  Judge,  69. 

Smith,  Lisle,  S3. 

Smith,  Mary  Rozet,  185. 

Smith,  Perry  H.,  196,    203,  207,  265. 

Smith,  Mrs.  Perry  H.,  196,  265. 

Smith,  Perry  H.,  Jr.,  266. 

Smith,  William  Henry,  248,  249,  251, 

252,  253. 
Smith,  Mrs.  William  Henry,  248,  249, 

252. 

Snow, ,  137. 

Snow,  George  W.,  12,  46. 

Spalding,  J.  J.,  106. 

Spencer,  Franklin,  244. 

Sprague,  A.  A.,  214. 

Sprague,  O.  S.  A.,  214. 

Stager,  Gen.  Anson,  202,  203,  209,  214. 

Stanton,  D.  D.,  57. 

Stanton,  George  E.,  129. 

Steel,  George,  57. 

Steele,  Ashbel,  3,  4. 

Stewart,  Mrs.  Dr.,  60. 

Stewart,  Hart  L.,  100. 

Stockton,  Gen.  Joseph,  125, 129. 

Stone,  Horatio  O.,  12,  187. 

Stripe,  Ida  C.,  242. 

Stripe,  Violet,  242. 

Strong,  W.  E.,  127,  228,  284. 

Strong,  Mrs.  W.  E.,  228. 

Stuart,  Dr.,  25. 

Sturges,  Solomon,  136. 

Sullivan,  Mr.,  225. 

Swett,  Leonard,  138. 

Swift,  R.  K.,  41. 

Swing,  David,  64,  270. 

Swope,  Rev.  Dr.,  126. 

Tallmadge,  Mrs.,  108. 
Tappan,  Charles  S.,  203,  206. 
Taylor,  James  H.,  244. 
Taylor,  William  H.,  12. 
Taylor's,  247. 
Thomas,  Clara,  44. 
Thomas,  Theodore,  269,  278,  287. 
Thomasson,  Col.  Nelson,  174. 
Thompson,  Harvey,  238,  250. 
Tiernan,  Mrs.  M.,  129,  130. 


Tiffany,  Mrs.  C.  C.,  222. 

Tiffany,  Rev.  O.  H.,  109. 

Tilden,  Samuel  J.,  221. 

Tilton,  Col.  Lucius,  203,  204. 

Tinkham,  Annie,  131. 

Tinkham,  Edward  J.,  52,  58,  60,  203, 

204. 

Tinkham,  Edward  S.,  199. 
Tinkham,  Edwin,  136. 
Tomlins,  William  L.,  287. 
Torrence,  General,  278. 
Towne,  Charles,  244. 
Tracy,  John  F.,  203. 
Tree,  Arthur,  126. 
Tree,  Judge  Lambert,  203,  207. 
Tree,  Mrs.  Lambert,  126. 
Tree,  Ronald,  126. 
Trumbull,  Lyman  J.,  183,  184. 
Trumbull,  Perry,  244. 
Tuley,  Murray  F.,  165. 
Turner,  Volney,  228. 
Turner,  Mrs.  Volney,  228. 
Tuttle,  Henry,  244. 
Tuttle,  Mrs.  Henry,  241. 

Van  Northwick,  John,  207. 
Van  Wyck,  Frank,  44. 
Viles,  James,  239. 
Voss, ,  177. 

Wacker,  Charles  H.,  284. 

Wadsworth,  James,  12. 

Wadsworth,  Mary,  137. 

Wadsworth,  Philip,  63,  202,  203,  204. 

Waite,  Horatio,  186. 

Waite,  Mrs.  Horatio,  186. 

Walker,  Charles  H.,  203. 

Walker,  Charles,  57. 

Walker,  Charles  M.,  167. 

Walker,  George  C.,  44,  203. 

Walker,  Henry  H.,  174. 

Walker,  J.  M.,  271,  278. 

Walker,  Samuel  J.,  167. 

Walker,  Dr.  Samuel  J.,  Jr.,  167. 

Walker,  William  B.,  43,  203. 

Waller,  Edward  C.,  169,  174. 

Waller,  Henry,  169. 

W'aller,  James  B.,  169,  173,  289. 

Waller,  Judith,  174. 


310 


CHICAGO  YESTERDAYS 


Waller,  Robert  A.,  284. 

Waller,  William,  169,  173. 

Walsh,  John  R.,  284. 

Walter,  Mrs.  Joel,  28. 

Ward,  Amy,  241. 

Ward,  Frankie,  241. 

Ward,  Jasper  D.,  169. 

Ward,  Mrs.  Joseph  Frederick,  v,  88- 

116. 

Ward,  Lucy,  241. 
Ward,  Lilly,  241. 
Ward,  Samuel  Dexter,  238,  241. 
Ward,  Mrs.  Samuel  Dexter,  241. 
Warner,  Ezra,  214,  240,  250,  254. 
Warner,  Mrs.  Ezra,  254. 
Warren,  Nellie,  248,  251,  253. 
Warren,  William  S.,  239,  240,  251. 
Warren,  Mrs.  William  S.,  251. 
Warren  sisters,  78. 
Washburne,  Emory,  Jr.,  203. 
Washburne,  Hempstead,  287. 
Waubansee,  194. 
Webster,  General,  251. 

Wells, ,  132. 

Wentworth,  John,  12,  19,  91,  93,  96, 

100,  103,  191. 

Wentworth,  Mrs.  John,  103. 
West,    Mrs.   Frederick    T.,   v,   216- 

236. 

Wheeler,  Charles  C.,  284. 
Wheeler,  Mrs.  C.,  145. 
Wheeler,  Charles  W.,  203. 
Wheeler,  Eleanor,  127,  145. 
Wheeler,  Frank,  266. 
Wheeler,  G.  Henry,  203. 
Wheeler,  Hiram,  203. 
Wheeler,  Samuel,  259. 
Whipple,  General,  208. 
Whistler,  Colonel,  79. 
White,  Mr.,  67. 
White,  Alexander,  250. 
Whitehead,  Capt.  Edward,  107. 
Whitehead,  William  H.,  107. 
Whitehouse,  Bishop,  64,  278. 
Whitehouse,  Francis  M.,  278. 


Whitehouse,  William  Fitzhugh,  129, 

222. 
Whitehouse,  Mrs.  William  Fitzhugh, 

129. 

Whiting,  Mrs.,  137. 
Whiting,  Mary,  137,  197. 
Whitman,  George  R.,  203. 
Wilder,  Nat,  26. 
Willard,  Miss,  76. 
Williams,  Annie,  244. 
Williams,  Clarine,  251. 
Williams,  General,  130. 
Williams,  Lawrence,  242. 
Williams,  Norman,  212,  271. 
Williams,  Simeon  B.,  239,  245,  249. 
Willing,  Henry,  88. 
Willing,  Mrs.  Henry  J.,  79. 
Willing,  Mark  Skinner,  79. 
Willis,  Richard  Stors,  135. 
Willis,  Mrs.  Richard  Stors,  135. 
Wilson,  Charles  L.,  203. 
Wilson,  Judge  John  M.,  81. 
Wilson,  J.  M.,  188. 
Wilson,  John  K.,  11. 
Wilson,  Mrs.  Milton,  97,  107. 
Winchester,  Col.,  165,  166,  168. 
Winston,  Frederick,  266,  267,  284. 
Winston,  Lillie,  259. 
Wischmyer,  Mrs.  Henry,  126. 
Wolcott,  Alexander,  12,  13. 
Wolcott,  Mrs.  Alexander,  13. 
Wolcott,  Caroline,  13. 
Woodel,  Edward,  183. 

Woodbridge, ,  63. 

Wright,  Deacon  John,  51. 
Wright,  Mrs.,  132. 
Wrights,  the,  244. 
Wyman,  Edward,  259. 
Wyman,  Walter,  259. 

Yates,  Governor  Richard,  110. 
Yerkes,  Charles  T.,  284. 
Young,  George  W.,  203,  209. 
Young,  James  R.,  203,  209. 
Young,  Otto,  284. 


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